No Longer Mine
by EvoFTG
Summary: Megatron has always thought that he knows his Second, especially when he gained himself the ability to filter Starscream's CPU. However, when Starscream is captured by the Autobots, he is forced to reflect the true nature of their relationships...
1. Chapter 1

::Megatron to Thundercracker!::

The harsh, rumbling voice practically yelled through the comm. link, almost causing the blue-and-white jet to knock his head over on the monitor. Steadying his still shaky grip, Thundercracker opened his connection and said:

::Thundercracker here, sir.::

The Seeker had always being cautious when talking to the Decepticon Supreme Commander, but this time he put more effort in sounding even more polite when replying, knowing the tone that Megatron used indicated that he was recently being slagged off by something – or someone, for that matter.

::Get to the detention brig, NOW!::

Detention brig. Thundercracker cycled air out through his vents, letting out the Cybertronian equivalent of a sigh. That place, when was required for him to come over, meant only two things; either that Megatron needed his creativity in torturing captured Autobots or his trineleader had managed to somehow landed himself, again and again, in the fiery path of the warlord's anger. Probably – no, that's an understatement – very likely, the latter, since it had been orns they have met the damnable soft-sparked Autobots. Since he suspected he needed more than two servos in this circumstance, he again opened his comm. link and contacted a presence that was much more welcoming.

::'warp, need you in this. I think Screamer is in it again. Be quick, ol' Megs didn't sound happy at all.::

::Be right there.:: Answered a much smoother voice at the other end of the link before it was shut off again.

However, through the Seeker bond he shared with his trinemate, Thundercracker could sort of feel the black-and-purple Seeker's presence vanished for an astrosecond before the said mech appeared almost at the same instant right at his side, a frown adorning his faceplates. Such expression was rare for Skywarp to show, but when it concerned their overly-brave-if-not-foolish Air Commander, none of them could escape the feeling that was coursing within their systems right now – worry.

Without a word, Skywarp's purple servo clutched around Thundercraker's left fore-arm, taking care not to grip too tightly and activated his warp gate projector. The instant he did, Thundercracker braced himself for the tank-lurching, gravity-defying sensation of teleporting as Skywarp initiated the process. The blue jet never really liked teleportation – at the end of each, his CPU would feel a little addled for a few astroseconds, and when he first experienced it, it took all of his willpower not to purge his tank empty. He wondered briefly how on Cybertron did Skywarp managed to be battle-ready whenever he re-appeared, nor how he could possibly _like_ to do it repeatedly.

Thundercarcker's wonderings were cut short as the familiar yet uncomfortable teleporting began. The only good thing in this was that the process took hardly a nanoklik, and when he onlined his optics (Thundercracker never let his optics online when teleporting) again he was already just outside the metal door of the detention brig. All around him was dark because Megatron made sure that when Nemesis was built, he wanted this place to be as uncomfortable as possible, going to the minutest details like the lack of lightings. He didn't know if it worked for the captives, but the dimly lit space, suffocatingly narrow hallway always managed to put his Seeker-inherent claustrophobia to the surface. Skywarp must have been feeling the same as he, with the younger Seeker being of the same model. This was confirmed by the slight fear floating through their Seeker bond and the faint shiver briefly shaking his chassis.

"What do you think Megatron has done this time?" Skywarp was the first to speak, he being unaffected by his the teleportation. His grip on the blue arm loosened.

"One way to find out." Thundercracker rapped his knuckles to the metal surface lightly, but the sound-reflective surrounding amplified the sound to a level that it seemed he was banging on it instead.

"Enter," came the cold reply from inside. Both Thundercracker and Skywarp let their air vents cycle air once to calm their slightly heated circuits, courtesy of their anxiety, before the blue mech led the way into the detention brig, his trinemate followed closely behind.

Both barely managed to restrain their vocalizers from hitching at the sight that met their optics once they were inside.

Of course, Megatron was there as expected, as was his 3IC, Soundwave. Their figures were familiar enough to be recognized even with the poorly-lit space, with only a lamp to provide lights for the whole cell. In the near total darkness, Soundwave's visor glowed a deep shade of orange, which was unusual enough since it was a sign of interest or inquisitiveness. None of its cassettes were activated, and in his servo seemed to be holding something small in its palm, though the Seekers couldn't quite make out what. Contrasting to the horrified expressions on the Seekers' faceplates, Megatron appeared as he always did when enraged, with a scowl set firmly in place. Even in gay mood, the silver tyrant was a figure to be feared but with wrath still boiling in his energon blood, Thundercracker and Skywarp found themselves fearing for their activation. His Fusion Cannon, almost always strapped to his right arm, hummed faintly from recent fire, as was its smoking barrel indicated. His optics flared a deeper shade of red for an instant upon seeing an extra Seeker figure at the doorway instead of only the summoned Thundercracker.

"Lord Megatron?" Thundercracker croaked, his CPU screaming for him to flee but he kept his pedes anchored to the place. If Megatron decided to blast his cannon at him, he was sure Skywarp would be fast enough to grab him out of the harm's way via warping off to somewhere safe.

"Well? Do I have to spell out everything?" Megatron roared furiously, one black finger jabbed out to a far corner of the cell, where a comatose figure laid in the dark.

The Seekers understood the sign well enough and hurried over, struggling to suppress a shudder as their comatose Air Commander came into clearer view. His offlined optics were almost invisible against his dark faceplates, splatters of energon-ish purple staining a large portion of them. His dental plating was half crushed, probably by the warlord's fist whose prints were imbedded elsewhere on his chassis. One of his legs was bent at an unnatural angle with its metal joint completely dislocated from his hip component. Blue arms lay several feet off his body, entirely dispatched from their shoulder joints, energon blood pouring out of the wounds with nightmarish rush. One side of the mech's helm no longer retained its original shape, being bent and crushed by Megatron's punches and kicks. Torn circuits and broken lines were exposed where his armors were ripped, cracked or dented, sparks emitting from cut live wires. Right at the centre of his chestplates, a weak glow of the injured mech's Spark pulsed with dying frequency, it being exposed for the sake of Megatron's torture – Even Skywarp had to bit on his lip components upon seeing the abused Spark, knowing just how much agony it could inflict to the bot owning it when it was mistreated even slightly. His Air Commander's looked as if it had been through torture Megatron specially reserved for hardy Autobots. However, all these were nothing compared to the revelation that hit the blue and purple Seekers when they turned their trineleader's limp body over in an attempt to lift him up.

He had no wings.

As if realizing what had shocked the two jets into temporary stasis, Megatron kicked a pair of white, angular pieces of metal already stained with energon towards them. They skidded to a halt at the Seekers' sides, drawing out surprised gasps.

Seekers were a mech-model specially designed for flight; they are the masters of the sky and every inch of their chassis is shaped to the purpose. They carry lightweight armors to reduce weight and minimum artilleries; legs were built especially strong for landings and take-offs in root mode while their wings…their wings, the simple-looking yet elegant parts of their bodies, calibrated to extra sensitivity to sense subtle changes in air pressure while in flight, are probably the one treasure they prize above all else. Without them, flight is impossible. Without them, they are trapped to the ground. Without them, they are not free in Seeker's sense.

Without them, they are simply _not_ Seekers.

Where the white wings were once attached to the Air Commander's chassis, Skywarp and Thundercracker could see bits of ripped metal from the wings still clinging to the joints. Wires dangled free from damaged circuitries, energon dripping generously to the slick floor, forming puddles in which the unconscious mech was lying. Further scrutiny showed a rather jagged line of tear, signifying that the ripping was done slowly by bare servos. They could not even grasp the extent of pain their trineleader was subjected to; Seekers' wings were too sensitive for their own good – harsh grips on them were enough to send the owner reeling in pain. Tearing them off would have felt like the agony of deactivation itself.

Skywarp took the abused wings into his arms, along with other collections of ripped-off limbs, handling them gently and with utmost care as if they could still register pain. Thundercracker worked in similar silence, sliding an arm under the injured mech's knee-joints and one behind his wingless back. Bridal-style, the blue Seeker lifted his Air Commander; with a final acknowledgement to the still-seething warlord, Skywarp extended a servo to wrap his fingers around Thundercracker's while the other touching his trineleader on the helm, he initiated the teleportation sequence. In a nanoklik, the three Seekers were gone from the cell, leaving Megatron and Soundwave alone.

**XXXXX**

Once the Seekers were gone, the seemingly perpetual scowl on Megatron's face mutated into a smirk, optics following the trail of energon on the dark floor in a show of sadistic satisfaction. For an astrosecond he ignored the company of his telepathic Third-In-Command while opening a comm. link to the Decepticon CMO.

::Megatron to Hook.::

A deep voice answered over the quickly established link. ::Hook. What is it, Lord Megatron?::

::Expect a visit from Starscream. Repair him, but only so he did not stay in stasis lock. Finish all else while he was conscious, and make it as slow as possible.::

::As you wish, Megatron.::

::Good. Megatron out.::

The silver tyrant turned to face Soundwave just in time to see the cassette-deck's visor flared in a nanoklik before settling down to its usual glow – obviously his telepathy had told him exactly what Megatron had in store for Starscream.

"How is it with that memory drive of yours?" Megatron asked, voice only a notch softer than the tone he used to order his Seekers.

"Mission: accomplished. Starscream's personal code retrieval: 78% successful. Corrupted files: 23% of overall downloads," the monotonic voice of the 3IC replied, a slight raise in his tone being the only indication of fear in delivering the report.

"'Corrupted'?" The ex-gladiator repeated. "How in the Pit they become corrupted? Will they be of any use?"

"File status: unreadable. Possible cause: Starscream's abuses interferes with his processing unit. Suggested course of action: Defragmentation."

Megatron's anger abated somewhat at Soundwave's display of efficiency. Black fingers reached up to stroke his square jaws in a fashion of 'I-will-rule-the-universe' as he said, "Good, Soundwave. Do that, and when it's ready, deliver it to me right away. Then…Starscream will not be able to hide his insidious plan to usurp my throne in his dirty little processor any longer." The last bit sounded more like a monologue to the stoic 3IC, looking at the fact that the dictator's optics dimmed slightly.

"Lord Megatron?"

Megatron growled, suddenly aroused from his fantasy by the electronic monotone of his subordinate. Without doubt, the navy-and-white mech must have sensed his wandering thoughts and only tried to bring his focus back to the present. If this was done in front of the other Decepticons, he would have raged. As it was, though, the Decepticon overlord suppressed his seething annoyance down – Soundwave only did what he thought was best, and it was well too. When left unattended with his own actively fantasizing processors, Megatron could be lost in his thoughts for breems or maybe joors.

"Dismiss." The silver gun-former waived a careless hand before Soundwave's hidden face, emphasizing his order. The Third-In-Command did not voice out a syllable as he went off, only a slight dip of his head to signify his acknowledgement of the order.

The silver dictator held back a dark chuckle. Soon…very soon, his traitorous Air Commander would find his will bared and naked to the Lord High Protector, who saw and read every planned move, every orchestrated word, to the point that insubordination would be impossible…

**XxXx**

_Crack!_

"How many times do I have to tell you, Skywarp, that my med bay is off-limit for your teleporting antics! Of all the whole Nemesis, why do you have to do it, again and again –"

Whatever else the old Decepticon had to spill, the words died out in his vocalizer as he spun around to face the expected black and purple flyer, but instead saw one of the most gruesome sight he ever laid his optics upon.

"What happened?" The Constructicon asked, then remembered Megatron comm. linking him only a few astroseconds ago. "Wait, don't tell. It's Megatron throwing his tantrum again."

Without further ado, he motioned Thundercracker to lay the unconscious Starscream on one of the operation berths in the med bay while gesturing Skywarp to line the dismembered limbs of the colourful Seeker in a prepared tray on a nearby desk. The jets retreated a few steps, giving room for the medic as he began to scuttle around, mumbling incoherent words and shaking his helm as he started to work on Starscream.

"Whatever our Air Commander did this time that get Megatron this slagged," Hook said while cycling air through his intakes, resulting in the Decepticon sounding like he was huffing. He searched through the battered form for Starscream's connection slots – a surprisingly difficult task, since he was required to find them among all the intricacies of dented, plied, split armors, not to mention the drooping wires and cables.

Thundercracker suppressed his growing unease as he watched Hook being none-too-gently in his search – the medic was not known to be tender with his patients, a Decepticon as he was. Skywarp, though being the least sensitive in the trine, did not go unaffected while seeing Starscream's armors being removed to expose…whatever it was that the Constructicon was trying to find. It was a good thing that Starscream was in stasis lock or the pain would have been, to say the least, too much. Hook was indifferent to the uncomfortable fidgeting of his patient's trinemates, plugging in wires and cables from his medical monitoring machines into Starscream's slots. The screens flickered online to show the SIC's various stats – his sparkbeat, energon fuel pressure, processor activeness, among many others, but they all did not show anything to celebrate upon.

"Slag this…his energy's too low to continue the repair…" Hook mumbled upon setting his optics on the energy reading – barely 5%. He produced a cube of energon from his sub-space and attached a tiny hose into it while the other end was slotted into a port that led to Starscream's main fuel pump. Tiny dribbles of the pinkish fluid were sucked up the tube, drawn by the mech's starving tank pump, to receive nourishment of any kind.

As if suddenly realizing that he had audiences, the lime-and-purple medic whirled around and growled, "Are you two going to stay and watch? If you do, don't get in my way."

"I…uh, we think we better let the medic stuffs to you," Thundercracker interjected sharply; he shot his trinemate a look that said 'don't say a word, I have enough with this.' Apparently, even the hardy jet could not afford to see the fixation being carried out, with Hook being the one to do it. Sure, he knew how to repair, but his method was really not for the weak-Sparked. Skywarp had no protest about this at all and nodded vigorously.

"Fine. Get your afts out of here before someone purged in my med bay," the Constructicon shrugged, a Cybertronian gesture that somehow coincided with human culture. He turned his back to the duo, a laser scalpel in one servo, and bent down over the unconscious form of Starscream.

That was the cue for the two jets to leave. Skywarp grabbed hold on his trinemate's black servo, their chassis shimmering with the initial glow of teleportation when Hook suddenly turned to face them and practically yelled, "Oh no, you don't! No teleporting in and out –"

Too late, the two Seekers vanished into Skywarp's invisible warp gate before Hook could finish scolding them. The air crackled for a few nanokliks from the jet's teleportation afterglow around the fuming Hook, who resumed working on his latest patient.

**XxXx**

When Skywarp and Thundercracker re-appeared, they found themselves standing in the middle of the latter's personal quarters. To Thundercracker, Skywarp's choice of destination was most tantalizing, with his recharge berth only a few metres away, compared to the other option – going back to the security room and spent 2 more joors staring at the blank, dull monitor.

Thundercracker cycled out a huff of heated air. Better get going or risked crossing lines with the fearsome, _illustrious _leader of the Decepticon.

"Awwhh, TC, leaving already?" cooed Skywarp, already shamelessly lying himself on his trinemate's berth.

"Don't know about you, 'warp, but I still had a monitor duty to do. Ol' Megs won't be too pleased if Autobots come to attack without warning and I happen to be on the guard duty."

Skywarp harrumphed a little, both through his mouth components and the twin intakes on his shoulder plating. "Swell. You know those slaggin' Autobots _never _attacked at night. It's what _we_ – Decepticons – do."

Thundercracker considered this for a few brief nanokliks, optics sweeping lazily the elegant length of his purple-and-black design copy sprawled on his berth – he knew that all those teleportation must have drained Skywarp of considerable energy. A brief scan confirmed his inference, the report scrolling before his optics informing of his trinemate's low-energy state.

"I need energon. All what's been happening's too much to take, if you know what I mean," Skywarp groaned, stretching his bearing-stiff limbs and got up.

Thundercracker hesitated. "'warp, in case you haven't notice, which I presume _is _the case considering your carefree suggestion, it is _I_ who is on the current shift, not _you._ If Megatron found the station empty it will be _I _who is in trouble, not_ you_. Didn't matter if Autobots never really _did_ attack in dark hours, Megatron will get the slag out of his way if any of the 'Con not being where they supposed to be."

A collective shudder ran through the Seeker's frame when they remembered the battered, tattered form of Starscream, barely functioning, lying in the dark cell. Granted, their Air Commander always had the zeal to tease and mock and challenged the silver warlord from time to time again, managing to escape – Primus knew how – from time to time again, with his Spark. A clever mouth, and the next joor would see the red-blue-white Seeker with Megatron's servo-prints denting his exquisite chassis. Raising his null-ray in defiance usually reaped a brutal kick or two. It was a twisted dance that Megatron and Starscream seemed to never get tired to engage in, but never in the millions of stellar cycles did the Second-In-Command came as close to deactivation as this time. It was usual to see crushed armors here and there if it was Starscream, but Megatron, though fond of wing-abusing where the Seeker was concerned, never gone as far as tearing them off.

Skywarp seemed to give up arguing with his Seeker-mate when he raised his servos beside his black helm. "Fine. When's your shift over, TC?"

"My turn will end in 2 joors. But I guess I can get out a few breems early…"

Skywarp's lip components curled into a smile. The purple Seeker hated two things; being alone and monitor duty, and the fact that Thundercrcker would work out something so that he can get off early was a relief. "Right. I'll be waiting in my quarters, TC."

The ebony-purple jet teleported away with the usual farewell _crack_ while Thundercracker groaned at the thought of the dullness that lied ahead. Nevertheless, he was not Starscream, and he would do whatever it was that he was ordered to and preceded to the security room with heavy pedesteps and even heavier Spark.

**XXXXX**

Being a telepath had its pros and cons, but one of the things that he dreaded was Megatron's emotions whenever Soundwave felt it. The warlord possessed one of the most raw-feeling mental the 3IC had ever felt, so naked and unabashed with his wants and cravings, that Soundwave did not really have to delve into Megatron's mind to know what he was thinking – not that the mech would purposely do so without the other's consent. There was invisible barrier that Soundwave would not dare cross, even though he was perfectly capable of it, one of them being invading the privacy of Megatron's processor though the gun-former did encourage his 3IC to keep alert of possible traitorous thoughts. He rarely sensed such things, mostly because no sane mechs would ever dare doing so in the presence of Megatron, but Primus knew how very strong the firewalls that Starscream had somehow learned to erect whenever Soundwave was nearby. In fact, such was its strength, the cassette-deck had never been successful to penetrate past it to sift through his multi-layered thoughts.

Soundwave continued working in silence, hidden optics staring resolutely on one of Nemesis's system computer screen as the defragmentation of his memory drive began. At least, now that he had the control room all to himself, Soundwave permitted himself a sigh of relief. Megatron's latest demand for a way to spot possible insolence among his soldiers had resulted in Soundwave's latest creation, the memory drive, which enabled the warlord to become a sort of telepath, though an artificial one at that. It was not that the communication officer was incompetent at his jobs; rather, Megatron had lusted for Soundwave's unique ability for a while now, particularly in invading Starscream's traitorous mind. To do so, though, needed Soundwave to copy said mech's personal codes before the memory drive could be integrated into Megatron's processors. After that, the Decepticon Supreme Commander would have an instant, easy access to Starscream's consciousness whenever he felt like it. All he had to do was to activate the memory drive.

There was a _beep_ announcing that the defragmentation had been completed, coinciding perfectly with the soft _hiss_ of the main door sliding open to admit a certain blue Seeker into the control room.

Soundwave did not have to turn to identify the newcomer, his telepathy already recognizing the 'Con entering, although his did have a particular difficulty in distinguishing Thundercracker's presence from Skywarp at one scan.

"…Soundwave?" Came the puzzled 'greeting'; of course, the cassette-player was not exactly a midnight-wanderer and his figure was hardly seen walking around Nemesis at hours like this. "What are you doing here?"

"Explanation: Megatron's order," Soundwave decided to humor the Seeker's bewilderment by telling him, more or less, the cause of his presence here.

Thundercracker resigned himself to a shrug, though the 3IC knew better; bubbling just beneath the pretended satisfaction was inquisitiveness just waiting to burst forth while the jet took his seat before one of the security monitors.

Sure enough, an astrosecond later, the F-15 swiveled his chair around to ask the navy mech, "So what is exactly 'Megatron's order'? And don't give me a slag that you don't know because you're following his order."

Behind his facemask, Soundwave actually smiled at the comment – those were his usual lines if asked of his motive. However, he saw no harm in revealing to the blue Decepticon, thus answering, "Explanation: Defragmentation of memory drive. Reason: Make it presentable to Lord Megatron's observation."

"Uhuh, very 'clear' there, 'wave. What the frag is this 'memory drive', and why's our leader interested in it?"

Soundwave answered the questions with exactly the same words as he previously used to tell Megatron. "Object usage: Extrication and storage of memory files. Possible application: Detection of possible threats in one's processor."

"You mean 'detection of treachery in Starscream's processor'. Like I'm not used to the megalomaniac's glitchy paranoia," Thundercracker managed to mumble.

Soundwave made no comment this time – he didn't have to. It was a base-wide knowledge that Megatron, possessive and overbearing tyrant he was, could hardly tolerate betrayal and that power-hungry Starscream was in constant planning to overthrow the leader. With other mechs, Megatron would take only a nanoklik to point his Fusion Cannon at the offender's head and half of a nanoklik to blast the victim's head off. There was no such liberty with Starscream, though, but it was not because of the flyer's position; rather, Starscream would serve Megatron better alive than dead – Traitorous or not, that blue-red-white jet knew how to _really _be a Decepticon Air Commander and Megatron's SIC. It was only him who was brave – or foolish enough – to keep pointing out flaws and mistakes in Megatron's many battle plans.

Even Soundwave could not gather adequate boldness to deliberately do something like that and knew that he would be punished for it later. No, the credits were solely Starscream's.

"I guess that's why ol' Megs was out of his processor this time? He finally found what Screamer is up to?"

"Supposition: Incorrect. Starscream's position: Lord Megatron's punishment to his previous betrayal."

_Oh_ pretty much summarized the thoughts crossing Thundercracker's processor, knowing exactly what his latest betrayal was. The one that had Starscream manipulating Dr. Arkeville's invention to blow up Earth in order to absorb the aftermath energy explosion, creating a massive stock of energon cubes. It would have been a perfect plan…if not for the simple fact that if Starscream had succeeded, they would have gone along with this planet.

Soundwave retracted his memory drive from the computer's port and stored it away in his sub-space. It was time to leave.

Thundercracker arched an optic ridge as he watched the communication officer rose from his seat and made his way to the door. Soundwave felt his comrade's optics following his movements, no doubt still curious of the contents of the memory drive and was disappointed that he left so soon. Still, an order was to be followed, especially Megatron's – _deliver it to me right away_, he had said. It couldn't have been blunter than that.

Megatron's private quarters were situated somewhere on the upper deck of Nemesis where the warlord would have access to wide view around the battleship. It was there that Soundwave's pedes were carrying him to and, as he stood outside the door, his fingers hovering above the intercom button, the 3IC prepared himself to face the overwhelming mental of his lord.

He pushed the comm. button and spoke to the speaker above the control panel. "Lord Megatron. Soundwave is here."

A moment's silence, then, "Come in, Soundwave."

The cassette-player did just that as the door slid aside, admitting entrance into Megatron's spacious and luxurious living space. Off to a corner was a large desk, and in front of it was Megatron-occupied chair. An optic ridge was raised in a silent inquiry, and Soundwave knew exactly what Megatron was about to ask.

"Task completed. Memory drive defragmentation: 100% successful. Corrupted files: Non-existent."

Megatron's lip-plates were pulled apart into a smile upon hearing the mech's report. Black servos rubbed together in a gesture of satisfaction while the red optics flashed with sinister light. All in all, the reactions left Megatron looking more foreboding than his usual self but Soundwave knew that he was in no immediate anger – Megatron was actually rather pleased.

"Excellent, Soundwave. Excellent," he drawled in his usual manner of showing approval. Hearing the tone, the 3IC mentally counted 2 astroseconds and braced for the impact as he handed said device into the leader's extended servo.

It rolled around the room with unrestrained vigour, overwhelming the telepathic Soundwave like unstoppable tidal waves; Megatron's lust and sense of triumph were always powerful enough to make the communication officer shudder, albeit very faintly it was negligible.

Megatron reflected on the gadget for a few astroseconds longer, entranced by its power. Soundwave, his ever loyal officer, succeeded again in his job as was given. Admittedly, he had ordered the 3IC to invent it for the sake of his sole amusement…to steal a look into his traitorous Air Commander's mind, though when it was created it proved to be more potent than expected, when all Megatron intended to achieve was to personally indulge in the thoughts of Starscream himself, wanting to feel, see and hear all the perceptions that Soundwave experienced when he delved into someone's mind. Before, Soundwave's mental probing had always been deflected by the Seeker's firewalls – therefore, the 3IC had thought, very brilliantly, that if he could not access his memories from outside, then maybe if it is done from inside, Starscream's processors would be more susceptible to revelation, only Megatron had ordered it to be himself turned into Starscream's 'mind-reader'.

The theory was proven correct when the file streams from Starscream's data banks were readily downloaded into the memory drive under Soundwave's telepathic guidance. There was little resistance from the screaming, thrashing and helpless Seeker as his personal codes, deeply stored in his processors, were torn away and violated. The reactions were so intense that Starscream stalled Soundwave's progress for a few astroseconds before regaining himself under the dictator's warning glare that spoke of his demand more clearly than any of his ramblings could. Megatron was sorely tempted _not _to stop until his SIC reached permanent deactivation but even in the haze of killing joy, the warlord could reason enough that Starscream still had his uses. That was when he called Thundercracker to take the injured Seeker to the medical bay – if he had called Hook, the uncaring medic would most likely cause more damage since he was not very impartial in being caring.

Megatron laughed out loud, uncaring if any Decepticon happened to be passing by or not – after all, his quarters were fairly sound-proof. Oh, the joy he was feeling! Starscream prided on two things; his wings and his mind. Now, both were Megatron's to use as he pleased and he chose to deprive the Seeker from his flying appendage to humiliate and pain him. The memory drive in Megatron's servo, however, was a rather cryptic meaning of his Air Commander's torn freedom of mind. Life was indeed sweet if you know how to make the best of it, Megatron mused. With that thought, came a heavier notion that despite this being a part of his wicked amusement, Megatron realized that he also had a responsibility to fulfill as the leader of the Decepticon – to straighten his soldiers into complete obedience, which was the exact thing Starscream was rather lacking. Perhaps in his memories Megatron could find the reason behind it, and once the source was identified, it would be easier to find the cure.

To his shock, though, and much bewilderment, Megatron had motioned the communication officer to come closer whilst opening a small paneling to reveal an outlet at the side of his helm. Almost instantly, though, understanding dawned on him.

"Lord Megatron…" It was rather uncharacteristic for Soundwave to fidget, but that was exactly his reaction right now.

"Install. The. Memory. Drive. NOW!" Megatron hissed, baring his fang-sharp incisor dental plates and gesturing insistently at the opened outlet.

"…Request: Delay the installation process. Reason: Dangerous consequence under unprepared situations," the cassette-deck's voice was flat as usual, but the wording was chosen so Megatron would recognize the plea in it.

"Heh, Soundwave, don't tell me what's dangerous and what's not; me, of all mechs out there. Now do it, before I lost whatever little patience I have left. You don't want to end up like Starscream, do you?"

The subordinate mech sighed inwardly at his lord's impatience and moved forward, the gadget held firmly between his fingers. "Lord Megatron: Request for mind connection."

"Granted," was the dictator's one-word reply. Soundwave carefully extended his mind to link to Megatron's, hoping fervently that his firewalls would be strong enough to hold against the other mech's mentality.

Once the link was established, Soundwave carefully slotted in the memory drive into the outlet, careful to not touch sensitive wirings inside – not that Megatron was that bothered with a little discomfort. As was expected, Megatron's systems reacted negatively to the presence of the gadget once it detected another mech's personal codes contained inside it. His defense mechanism kicked in, trying to expel the 'intruder', and this was when Soundwave's telepathy was needed, guiding Megatron's mind from repulsing the device and relaxed as it throbbed and hummed faintly while it sought compatibility with its new host. Megatron groaned the entire way, fighting the urge to rip the memory drive out of his head but forced his body to accept it – and it was not easy, seeing how very conservationist he was.

Eventually, the discomfort passed quickly. Soundwave knew then that the installation was complete and a total success so he withdrew his mental presence from Megatron's. The cover panel slid over the now-occupied port and locked with a click. The communication officer belatedly realized that condensation was slick on the tyrant's face and his servos were faintly shaking. Granted, he had thought that it would end up a lot worse, seeing that what they were doing was actually rather violating – to trap a copy of Starscream's personality inside Megatron's systems, which was linked to the actual being when Megatron wanted it. Soundwave honestly thought that his leader was in for some head-banging pain or processor-splitting sensation. Apparently, Megatron's restraint was a lot stronger than that.

"How are you feeling, Lord Megatron?" The cassette-deck asked.

"I…ah, I am functioning," the silver tyrant groaned, then swallowed hard. "My body is rejecting it…I feel like a slag."

"Assumption: Incorrect. Systems are compatible with the memory drive. Re-wiring of some circuitries will be complete in a few joors."

Megatron nodded in understanding. "It will come to pass, you mean." Again, a groan escaped the silver lip components and the head was quickly buried in black servos.

"Observation: Prolonged resistance causes systems overheating. Suggestion: Refuel and recharge to replenish lost energy."

"Yes…that sounds acceptable. You…may leave, Soundwave." The larger Decepticon's voice was muffled, it being spoken from the confines of his own servos massaging his face up and down and around the temple. With any of the other Decepticons, such display of pain would be unwise, but he knew that Soundwave would know what he was going through, pretenses or no. It would be a waste of energy if he tried to hide it when the other mech's telepathy would read the signs just as easily.

Soundwave did not dare linger that the command had been given despite the obvious pain Megatron was in. Bowing slightly, the navy 'bot retreated, glancing back only long enough to catch a glimpse of his leader's figure slumped in his chair before the door slid close completely, blocking his view.

Ensuring that none was within audio range, Soundwave released a rarely-heard sigh, emotions mixed within it, before turning around for his own quarters a few levels down below.

**XxXx**

Soundwave's departure had left the tyrant alone with his dark thoughts, despite the annoyingly intensifying throbbing in his cranium, his mouth forming something between a smirk and a leer. The small, seemingly insignificant memory drive currently occupying his port had his processors crazy with all its promising possibilities. Such an amusing joke that such small thing could be so very…dangerous.

Not now, though. It was time to relax, Megatron reminded himself. His processor was already overworked for the day, and sifting through immense data was exactly what he did _not_ need. The silver mech rubbed at his temple to ease the discomfort that refused to fade and extracted a cube of energon from the side of his desk when he realized how low on energy he was. He might be greedy and ruthless, but when it came to 'table manners', as the fleshlings called it, Megatron was surprisingly decent, sipping the content slowly to avoid spilling. When he was a gladiator millions of stellar cycles ago, he did not have the privileges to take his own sweet time to relieve the deliciousness of energon after a day full of battles, and definitely not high-graded ones at that. Now that he became the Supreme Commander of a vast army, Megatron wanted to cherish what was denied to him before.

_Frag, Thundercracker's right when he said these were high-grades_, Megatron thought when his processors became decidedly slower and his vision grainy after finishing his third cube. Not that he had low tolerance for high-grades – in fact he could normally get done with at least five before falling into highly energized state – but the stuffs were rather strong. He dragged his pedes to his large recharge berth in the next section of his living quarters, stumbling a little along the way as the high grades took him further and further into inebriation. With a groan, Megatron's huge chassis slammed on his berth. In a matter of kliks, his optics dimmed completely and he drifted into recharge.

**XXXXX**

Transformers did not dream in normal circumstances. A few never did experience it as a matter of fact because to them it was caused by a glitch in memory banks, which was rather undesirable. So, when Starscream's processor pulled up certain files from his data bank while said mech was still in stasis lock, he was very much unwelcomed by the flicker of images racing before his offlined optics. Unable to stop them, Starscream was forced to endure the emotions each of the pictures conjured, all alone and in silence…

**XxXx**

_The look that Starburst had on his faceplates spoke nothing that could be associated with 'positive'. The ancient Seeker sat on his chair for long kliks, fingers entwined together, vents whirling as they gulped cool air and ejecting warm. Starscream waited for the same period for reactions, any reaction at all, from his creator. So far he was granted with none. _

"_Science academy, you say?" the huge mech finally spoke after what it felt like joors. This startled the young tetrajet so much, Starscream nearly fell forward in his smaller chair – he honestly didn't think that Starburst would speak so soon._

"_Y-yes, father." Starscream realized that he was stuttering and cursed his voice more than ever. "Solardance and Spitfire were already in the War Academy, so I thought…It would be reasonable that I choose a different path."_

_Starburst's cooling vents kicked a notch speedier at the reply. His optics brightened with lighter red shade and Starscream found himself scared at the displayed reactions. His creator was definitely, obviously angry. _

"_And what do you intend to be by 'choosing this different path'?" His voice was dripping with the suspected emotion._

"_I…I want to be a scientist," Starscream paused, thinking whether he should elaborate or not. "Maybe an explorer…I have always been fascinated by worlds outside of Cybertron."_

_More to himself than to his son, Starburst mumbled, "I have always thought you are different than your siblings, but never in this sense."_

_Starscream gulped air through his intake vents sharply; would his father approve? Starburst had speaking in riddles so far, only asking, but never replying._

"_Worthless."_

_His intake vents hitched at the single word. _

"_A pity of metal. A Primus-damned creation. A glitch in the family. A taint in our lineage," the insults were hurled in a low voice, but it cut through Starscream's Spark more potently than any physical weapon could. He had been hoping, at least faintly, that Starburst would approve of his choice, if not be happy with it. It had been an empty hope to hold on to._

"_We have always been warriors, Starscream, the only course of life worth following." Starburst added, impartial to the mental hurt his youngest son was enduring. "The House of Star is known because of their members being fearless _warriors_, not some fool scientists. I expect you to be the same."_

_Starscream knew that he should not have objected to his creator's dictation, but he did anyway. "But Father, I see no reason why I could not become a scientist. If you are worried about family name, Solardance and Spitfire had lived up to the reputation well enough. It would not hurt at all to be something else…something different…something that has nothing to do with fighting." _

_The moment he finished speaking, Starscream knew he was in _big _trouble when Starburst surveyed into his optics with intense, unwavering glare. "Tell me, Starscream; is the life of a scientist, locked away in laboratories doing worthless things instead of serving Cybertron on the battlefield, is what you truly want?"_

"_Scientists can serve Cybertron just as much, only in different_ _way. Yes…yes father, I truly wish to be a scientist. I want to enter the Science Academy."_

"_Then…you are no longer of the House of Star, Starscream. I have no son who is such a fool."_

_Starscream stiffened, terribly surprised at the declaration that he was slow to react to Starburst's servo shooting out from its place on the desk. Fingers stronger and larger than his own were warped around his neck, constricting the flow of energon in the main cable until he choked and sputtered in discomfort and not a little pain._

"_From now on, you are free to go wherever you please and do whatever you want, but mark this; once you are out of the door of Shootingstar Mansion, you are no longer welcomed here. When you meet other people, you will not introduce yourself as Starscream son of Starburst. You are not mine, and never again will be. Understood?"_

_Through the choking grip, Starscream gasped and panted as he struggled to form coherent words to plea to his father. "P-please f-father…don't d-d-do th-this…I'm sorry…!"_

_The hold on his main energon line tightened, reducing Starscream into a choking, whimpering disarray. "Understood?"_

"_F-father…no, please!"_

_Never the one to be impatient, Starscream's resistant drove him into uncontrolled rage as the servo on his throat tightened enough to severe a few minor energon lines and denting the main one. Starscream was in full thrashing mode now, unable to either escape the pain or enduring it. Through the haze of agony he lived up to his name, screaming his tank out that statics sparked out from his mouth. At one point, his voice faltered even though Starscream never intended to stop as of yet – and he knew that his vocalizer had been damaged from the intense pressure._

_The malfunctioning of Starscream's vocal processor seemed to be the cue as Starburst released his hold on his disowned son's neck and let him slumped to the tiled floor unceremoniously. Cycling air rapidly through every available intakes he had, Starscream sounded as if panting as his internal cooling systems tried to cope with the massive rise of his core temperature. A blue servo massaged the abused neck to soothe the pain still throbbing, hissing as the tender metals were touched. He ran a quick scan to assess his damage and discovered that his vocalizer was still partly functioning, though its circuitries were not exactly as they were anymore._

"_F-father…" Starscream stalled upon hearing his own voice – he remembered his voice being smooth, if not slightly aloof, and it was pleasant to his audios. But this…this raspy, whiny, high-pitched tone was not his! It couldn't possibly be his voice!_

"_Begone, you Primus-cursed glitch!" Starburst spoke again, his tone commanding and unforgiving._

"_Please…forgive me…" By Primus, Starscream himself could not bear the frequency of his own voice! Hearing himself made his longed to drive laser cutter through his own vocalizer – anything to get rid of this pathetic excuse of a voice. _

"_I will not repeat myself again, Starscream. GET. OUT. NOW!"_

_At this point, Starscream knew that he had no hope of regaining his creator's trust anymore; slowly, very slowly, he lifted himself from the floor, knee-bearings feeling somewhat loose as he did so, and took one last look into Starburst's optics, searching for the tiniest hint of regret, of irresoluteness, but found none. He had truly meant it when he said Starscream was not of his family anymore. _

_The Seeker left his creator's chamber with heavy pedes, keeping his optics down to the floor even when his siblings came near. When he was out of the front gate of the Shootingstar Mansion, Starscream felt as if his Spark was torn into two. However, he reigned in his sorrow, too proud to let his tears visible as long as he was anywhere near this place he had once known as home._

_Thus it was that Starscream, though Spark-broken at the commandment, turned his back to the Shootingstar Mansion to step into an uncertain future alone._

**XxXx**

_He was low on energy, very, very low…he knew it even without the annoying warning in red flashed before his optics. Stasis lock was imminent, so Starsceam forced his himself to land in the snow-covered ground below, almost crashing while doing so. He was grateful that the blizzard had passed, but fighting the catastrophic weather was rather energy-consuming, leaving the tetrajet exhausted beyond hope if he did not rest._

_Leaning his back on a nearby rocky outcropping, Starscream sub-spaced a cube of energon and downed half of its content greedily, still remindful that his supplies were short. Skyfire had more in his sub-space, but the shuttle was not around to give his share._

_Skyfire…_

_Starscream held back a choking feeling in his energon lines as waves of sorrow crashed upon him. He bit his lip components as images of the white-and-red flier came to him, how they had spent their times together doing experiments back on Cybertron, how his face had radiated joy upon landing their pedes on this alien planet for the first time…_

_How the shuttle had looked so desperate to escape the thunderstorms that suddenly hit them, sending Skyfire spinning away from Starscream, who was likewise thrown further and further from the grasp of his friend. _

_Why did he agree to come to this Primus-forsaken planet in the first place? Why must he give in to Skyfire's request to land on this mud ball of a planet? If he had just said 'no' to either of these questions, he would not lose Skyfire. If he had refused, they would not be separated. However, he did neither, and now, Skyfire, his dearest friend, was lost. Starscream had been flying for days on ends, stopping only occasionally when the forces of nature seemed to conspire against him, ignoring his own health as he tried to find the red and white glimmer of Skyfire's armours in the white expanse of snow below, hoping to discover his fate no matter what it would be. He had travelled half the planet…and he had found nothing._

_Granted, Starscream would happily stay there and travelled all the distances needed to be re-united with the shuttle again, but his stocks of energon were running dangerously low, only enough for a trip back to Cybertron. Starscream gritted his denta hard as decision was made in his processor. It was a cruel thing to do, but it was necessary. He must leave this planet and returned to his home planet without Skyfire. Starscream never cried, but once he was done refueling and took to the air again, all the way into the dark confines of the outer space, the Seeker felt the burns of coolant on his faceplates before the rushing wind swept it away. _

_From that day onward, Starscream would curse his very being for that one action he was forced to take._

**XxXx**

_Starscream stared and stared at the words scrolling on the monitor of his dormitory's computer without really taking in the meaning of them. All that he could focus on was the little inset image at the upper right corner of the screen – a picture of a certain silver mech with burning red optics._

_Megatron._

_Leader of the Decepticon._

_Truthfully, Megatron was one of the last Transformers Starscream could ever thought of being contacted by, the last being Starburst, and when a very curious-looking purple mech, with absolutely no face except a single yellow orb that glowed every time he spoke and a gun for his left hand, came knocking at his dormitory's door two orns ago, claiming that he was an agent of the infamous warlord, the young Seeker almost sagged against the door._

_The meeting was short and formal; luckily, daily interactions with his creator had prepared him beforehand with just this kind of situation. The violet bot, who introduced himself as Shockwave, had rather straightforwardly informed the tetrajet of Megatron's intention to recruit him into the rank of Decepticon army, and that he had until his graduation day to answer. That meant another week to decide what his call would be._

_Starscream had not tell this to anyone else save his two trinemates, Thundercracker and Skywarp; the two Seekers had been with him the day he first converted from Science Academy to War Academy, sensing a certain inner hurt that the other tetrajets felt compelled to ease. Their…kindness, had soothed the ache in his Spark at his disownment by his own family, the sting made more potent by the other students who had chose to torture him by teasing his strange voice. Starscream could easily had the resident medics fix that for him, even going as far as replacing his vocalizer with a new one, but the red-white-blue Seeker downright refused it; as humiliating as it might be, it was a reminder of what had befallen him and motivated him to keep moving forward. Moreover, the late Skyfire had once objected to the notion, saying that the voice was a part of Starscream's unique characteristics, and that removing it would make him less…'Starscreamy'. At least, keeping his current voice would be for the memory of his dearest friend, since he could not carry on with the shuttle's interest in science – he had left his study in science because without Skyfire at his side, he felt as if there was no meaning to stay anymore. _

_Anyway, since then, Starscream had spent a good deal of joors an orn in researching for information on Decepticon and its leader. In all honesty, Starscream was more than intrigued by this army and was even more interested in its leader – The name Megatron had not escaped notice by residents of War Academy, including Starscream and his trinemates. He had to admit that the reason behind the temptation was that somehow he could prove his prowess in the optics of Starburst once again; as much as he loathed to confront his creator, the pain of being disinherited was potent even to this astrosecond. Skywarp and Thundercracker had agreed in joining the moment they were informed by it…and Starscream was, much or less swayed by their decision._

_Shutting down the computer, Starscream decided to go into recharge since his body seemed to be needing it by the way his joints ached and his processor somewhat hung up with every information it absorbed. However, one thought refused to leave him completely even as his systems quickly fell offline – that being a Decepticon did not seem to be a bad idea at all…_

**XxXx**

Starscream might as well cried as the painful images raced before his still-offline-optics, but stasis lock that he was in practically shut down all functions except the most vital ones.

_All I want from you is a little appreciation, father, _the Seeker seethed inside, shocked that the memories were still painful after all these millennia. Skyfire's images replaced the scowling face of Starburst, kind and loving, but no relief was kind enough to attend to Starscream. _Skyfire, dearest, _he faltered at the thoughts of the huge shuttle, _I never meant to leave you. Not now, not ever. You don't know how much it hurt having to leave you behind, frozen on this planet, and it hurt much more when you decided to defect to the Autobot. _Last to torture him was the memories of his leader, with the same red optics and unfaltering sneer, his hoarse voice hinting slightly of electronic whizz as he stood on his podium, declaring Starscream as his Air Commander, the Seeker unknowing of what lay ahead of him…

To his surprise, he _did _feel coolant pooling in the ducts behind his optics, ready to flow out as the urge to cry became more compelling. It did not make any sense; in stasis lock, a Transformer was physically incapable of any sorts of activities…which stood to reason that this form of offline mode which Starscream was experiencing had been converted from emergency stasis lock to the milder, more relaxing recharge.

Not that he felt relaxed right now. As a matter of fact, his processor slowly began to register ache and pain in his joints and motor bearings with sharper clarity to the point Starscream felt like living up to his name. However, his processor was still unable to connect to his vocalizer so that his voice was confined in his throat, but the sufferings grew even worse with each astrosecond until –

"AaaaaaarrrrRRRGGGHHH!"

Full activation hit Starscream hard and so suddenly that he jolted upright like a spring, jaws pulled involuntarily apart to unleash a screechy scream that spoke of his agony unlike no mere words could convey.

In a desperate need to escape the overwhelming sensations, Starscream frantically keyed in override codes to disable his sensory perceptors. His thrashing subsided once his pain faded bit by bit as his pain sensors shut down, allowing his attention to focus to his surroundings. Without any hesitation, the Seeker could tell that he was in the med bay for he of all mechs was one of the most frequent visitors to this place, aside from the Constructicons, having constantly being beaten to heap of scrap metals by his 'lovely' leader.

As if to accentuate his guess, Starscream's optics caught the sight of a certain lime mech coming down from the adjacent room. No doubt that the medic had heard his screams and he was somewhat ashamed by it – it was not the first time he woke up from forced recharge, or occasionally stasis lock, screaming, but this time he knew he was being exceptionally loud if the ringing in his audios were of anything to judge by.

"Waking up at last, aren't we?" Hook's deep voice floated to his audios like smooth water; he had to admit that sometimes he found himself unwittingly jealous of the CMO's pleasant voice, unlike his own whiny tones. "Now lay down. I haven't finished with you yet."

Starscream obeyed soundlessly, too tired to argue further. Idly he realized of the various wires connected to his medical ports that the sight made him at ill ease – it reminded him just how damaged he was if he needed those life support systems to keep him from permanent deactivation.

Hook meanwhile was peering intently on the screen beside Starscream's berth. There was a frown in his voice when he commented, "You know it is unadvisable to stall your sensors." He jabbed a thick digit at a sharp spike in Starscream's readouts, "Your systems are already stressed from it and if you continue like this, the overrides will fail, and the pain will hit you harder."

"Then for Primus's sake do your work and fix me already! I'm NOT onlining my sensors when it's fragging hurt!" Starscream snapped irritably, denta clenched together as said stress began to creep into his circuitries – it wasn't pain, his sensors still being shut off, but his control on his systems began to slip.

With other Decepticons, Starscream would have earned himself a smack on his helm at such rudeness at the very least, but this was Hook he was speaking to – the medic was indifferent to his attitude and responded with a shrug instead of beating his patient.

"Then hold on. There are chances that you fail to stall the pain long enough before the repairs are finished," Hook said as he began to pick up a welder, turned it on and sealed whatever gashes there were on Starscream's armours.

"I know my limits; I'll worry about my own pain. Just get to work!" The SIC ground out as he struggled to maintain control. It was difficult to fight with your inner self that letting the pain to claim him seemed tempting enough that he almost let go, but Starscream did not go by being Decepticon Air Force Commander and Second-In-Command without being resolute. The restrain was feeding off his energy, and predictably, his state turned worse as his energy level dipped below 40%.

To Starscream's own surprise, through his weakness and the holding back, he managed to maintain his control long enough for Hook to complete his jobs. As much as it was gruesome, there was something in the sight of himself being repaired that anchored his optics to it. Oh, Starscream was not a masochist, he hated pain, especially if he was at the receiving end himself, but he was compelled to drank in the gory view – he needed the memories to remind him of what Megatron had put him through, to motivate his lust and ambition in throwing off said mech and put himself in the seat of power. Starscream knew that revenge bred on itself, and what he was doing was astronomically dangerous, but he couldn't stop himself; not when almost every day he had to endure tortures that he did not rightly deserve.

Barely he registered Hook's voice talking to him: "I'm not even going to ask you what have you done this time, but for the sake of Primus, at least give yourself, Megatron and me some rest! You know that our leader does not go well with treachery, and somehow you are doing exactly that time after time!"

Starscream snorted. "I was merely pointing out flaws in his _grand_ battle design. It's my job to notice something like that and speak them out loud. It's the slagger's fault he couldn't bend his ego to accept the truth."

"I know, Starscream. But if you keep up like this…who knows how much patience Megatron still had in store? He was not the mech to be toyed with. One day you will cross his line and will be deactivated for it…or is permanent deactivation means nothing to you?"

Oh, Primus…If Hook was saying that, he certainly did not know the way Starscream's logic circuits works. If anything, the medic was stating the total opposite of what Starscream was feeling. He hated, feared, despised deactivation – he loved his life too much to let it go to waste that he would do everything, anything at all to ensure he could wake up another day with his Spark still pulsing with life and energy. His activation was on the top of his priority list that even begging to Megatron's mercy was something he could easily do if it led to his salvation.

Deciding that the need to justify his mind was unnecessary, Starscream did not say anything in reply. Instead, he distracted himself by retracting his overrides into dormancy and let sensations flow into him. Starscream, being used to the procedure, expect some stiffness in his limbs, and maybe numbness from recent repairs and braced himself for them. Sure enough, those were exactly what he received when his sensors flared to life, annoyingly registering his discomfort but welcoming the hints of life nevertheless.

"Hmm…seemed that you are still good at your jobs," Starscream found himself taunting the medic even though he did not really mean it. It was just a habit of him that the Seeker could not entirely throw off.

"Of course I am. I can perform repairs even worse than this," a slight smugness coloured his voice and hinting a little of indignation; if anything, Hook, the normally stoic Constructicon prided himself on his medical abilities, which were admittedly as superior as he had claimed.

Starscream's optic ridge shot up, disbelieving. _Repairs even worse than this?_ He was close to permanent offline already, being in stasis lock and all, and Hook claimed he could fix damages that were worse? However, the Seeker chose not to broach the subject further, knowing the Constructicon's tendency to explain things in an exhaustingly elaborate detail. Usually, Starscream, with his science-oriented processors could understand what Hook was babbling about, but in his weakened state he found the notion unappealing.

"Hook…how badly damaged I was?" The words were out before Starscream could stop himself.

The medic stopped short in his work of cleaning his messy operation table. The SIC never asked him that particular question even though the number of times he had been deposited in the med bay was simply countless. "Why?"

"Just curious," Starscream gave a careless shrug while his optics still nailed to the face of the CMO.

"Thank Primus that Megatron decided to stop when he did. When Thundercracker and Skywarp brought you had one of your arms detached, your main fuel line was ruptured, and countless minor lines completely severed…sufficient to say that you barely look like _you _at all."

Starscream suppressed a shudder as his processor conjured up an imaginary image based on Hook's details. Hook was silent for a nanoklik, hesitance clearly be the cause of it, before the medic added, rather guiltily, "You are lucky that Megatron was not a very specific mech…"

"What the slag are you talking about, Hook?"

"…Megatron had ordered me to bring you out of stasis lock but save the repairs when you are online…Primus is helping you that he did not detail to do it with fully engaged sensors."

Even Starscream's powerful will could not suppress his optics from flaring bright with fear to hear so. As accustomed he was to pain, the Air Commander was not impervious to it. The pain from repairs would be…unimaginable, and even that was an understatement, more so with Hook who carried it out.

"Hmm, lucky me," Starscream tried to sound disdainful for the sake of maintaining his irritable image, but the voice that came out was desperate instead.

"Well, yes, _lucky_," Hook reciprocated lazily – he was used to Starscream's antics by now, "We'll see if you consider yourself lucky when you have barely 2 breems to refuel _and then_ get ready for patrol duty."

Starscream slid off the operation table only to discover that his legs were slightly trembling, weakened by both Megatron's beating and fresh weld lines. He suppressed a grunt and stood up, ignoring the flashes of pain his nodes were registering. "Then I better get ready. I suppose you don't like me depleting your supplies so quickly."

Hook responded with a simple harrumph as he watched the colourful jet took his leave, taking note of how his wings perked up a little despite the stoic faceplates the Seeker chose to display. Starscream was still in discomfort but he would be damned if something like this hindered him from his duty. At any rate, failing to show up would probably be bait for another of Megatron's punishments, and that was reason enough to get his pedes shuffling down the main hallway to Nemesis's mess hall.

**XxXx**

Thundercracker and Skywarp had been sitting together at a table at a more secluded corner of the mess hall, simply drinking in their cubes of energon without paying much attention to the other mechs there…until the huge door slid open to admit a sleek figure through.

The Seekers gaped at the sight of their trineleader, battered, weak yet _alive_ striding into the place with all the dignity that Starscream could muster in his current condition. Red optics swept the length of the mess hall before locking onto Thundercracker first, and then Skywarp. The SIC made his way to his trinemates without at once glancing in other directions, knowing his appearances were not that very much impressive to begin with – Thundercarcker knew how his Air Commander hated to be present in public looking less than his best.

When Starscream finally reached the two Seekers, he practically slumped into a spare chair Thundercracker had retrieved from the side table.

Through the Seeker bond that the three jets shared, Thundercracker and Skywarp could sense their trineleader's apparent distress, and he their concerns. After a few kliks of silence, Thundercracker began, "We are wondering when you will be released from the med bay. It's good to have you back…"

"Yeah, we thought you're done this time, Screamer!" This came from Skywarp, of course. No one else dared to be so blunt with a moody Starscream. Thundercracker winced physically and sent a wave of displeasure at the purple-and-ebony Seeker through their bond at his tactlessness. What he got in return was a somewhat puzzled sensation that was reminiscent of _what? _in speech term. The blue jet sighed; Skywarp had never been particularly gifted with well-tuned processor-to-vocalizer filter.

Starscream, however, was in no mood to face Skywarp's obliviousness and instead said, "Get me a cube, will you? I'm starving."

Thundercracker nudged his purple trinemate and gestured to a stack of energon cubes nearby. Skywarp groaned but stood up nevertheless to do as bidden, returning a short while later with three energon cubes balanced in his arms.

Starscream accepted his with a nod, his thanks already conveyed through their Seeker bond while downing his energon with a single gulp – he was very low on energy, there was no denying that and in front of his trine he did not have to conceal his hungriness.

Starscream finished his cube far too quickly to be a simple reaction from his lack of energon, Thundercracker noticed. "Are you going on duty?"

Starscream tossed his emptied cube and reached out for Thundercracker's next. "It's not like I have any choice. That slag-maker would rip my limbs if I don't go on a patrol."

"But you're just out of med-bay! He couldn't have –"

"When did Megatron have any consideration for wounded troops? All he cared is to get the job done!" The Air Commander snapped before Skywarp could finish his sentence, throwing the purple Seeker into a stunned silence while Starscream gulped down the last drop of energon from Thundercracker's cube.

"When is your turn?" This was Thundercracker, apparently understanding that to pursue the unfairness of it all would put his trineleader in worse moods.

Starscream was silent for a nanoklik while checking his chronometer. "In about breem. Why? Fancy a fly for a round or two?"

Thundercracker shuddered. "No, unless I want my armours ripped apart." As he had said to Skywarp much earlier, Megatron hated it when he found his soldiers not where they were supposed to be – misplacement meant somewhere had reduced firepower or defense force.

The Air Commander sighed. "Exactly, you know why. And I must get to the air before _my _armours are ripped apart. And they're just freshly repaired too."

The last bit was meant as a jest but Thundercracker and Skywarp found it rather disturbing. However, Starscream looked barely affected as he stood up, pedes still quite shaky unsupported, and made his way out of the mess hall. As the last of the Seeker's glimpse vanished behind the closing door, the two trinemates echoed each other's sigh.

"I wonder how long Screamer's going to last," Skywarp mumbled, speaking out Thundercracker's exact thoughts.

**XxXx**

Starscream loved flying. Primus, he loved it so much, he sometimes hoped that if end must come to him, then he would go either in battle or on his wings.

Apart from to stay away from Megatron as far as possible, Starscream had endured his patrol duty because he also wanted to feel the rush of air as it caressed his smooth, alt-form chassis like cool breath, hearing the whirr of his engines powering him through the sky and forgetting all the torments he was made to endure back at Nemesis. The sky was dark…but it didn't matter. The heaven was his kingdom and he conquered it no matter what mood it was in. He was Starscream, after all, the Prince of the Sky!

Snapping into a turn that only a top-notch flier could manage, Starscream altered his angle and headed South-West, to the land. If he was lucky, he would meet with an Autobot scout or two to vent his anger upon. Very soon, the azure expanse below was replaced with muddy brown flatness, punctured here and there by lone rocks. He was deviating from his original course, he knew that, but it wasn't like Megatron was stalking him 24/7 to pinpoint his wrongdoings, especially now that he was so far from Nemesis.

Unfortunately, not a single Autobot was in sight…either that, or that Pit-spawned magician of a noble – what was his name? Ah, Mirage – whom he acknowledged to possess invisibility cloaking device, was on patrol. Not even the Twin Terrors, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, were there to alleviate his mood. Just for the pure sake of satisfying himself, Starscream let loose a strafing frenzy around the area, laughing like a glitched mech the entire time. He wasted one third of his arms in this way, then circled a huge radius of no-man (or no-mech, for that matter) land for a few times, willing for the time to pass, imagining things that he dreamed for so long…

What he actually dreamed? _Ah yes, Megatron's seat, that was._ He pointedly ignored the insistence from his processors of his other desires; they were too painful to be brought up. Eventually, a full two cycles of his duty expired and Starscream turned, thrusters roaring in delight, towards Nemesis. As much as he was fond of flying and the freedom that came with it, energy demands were always his greatest restraint, aside from Megatron's possible threats and the simple need to be with his trine.

He requested the surfacing of Nemesis's landing tower when he was about half a breem from the location, which was quickly granted by Mixmaster's cackling voice. The purple tower rose from the ocean's depth in answer, the landing dock opened and ready to receive the jet, who swiftly flew towards it and touched down. He rode the turbolift for the lower deck to report of his end of duty –

– only to have his optics greeted by Megatron's smirking face, the silver tyrant sitting proudly on his throne at the heart of the Command Centre.

**XxXx**

Megatron awoke from his recharge with fully functional, completely efficient processors, signifying the inebriation caused by the high-grades had already been filtered out of his systems. Granted, he did not consume that much, so the side-effects wouldn't have been that severe, plus that Megatron's tolerance for high-grades was rather impressive compared to most mechs. A quick check on his internal chronometer told him that he had lain in recharge for barely 20 breems, shorter than he expected earlier.

Almost immediately his thought was turned towards the memory drive, his circuitries tingling in anticipation. Belatedly, he realized how his once throbbing helm felt completely normal, the pain from circuits integration having completely vanished. He ran a brief scan on is internals, confirming his guess earlier guess.

Anticipation blossomed in his Spark, thinking just what kind of power he now possessed over Starscream and the possible things he could manipulate with his new ability. With that in mind, Megatron began to activate the memory drive into functionality –

– and found himself buried under phantom sensations that were not his own. Gentle wind rushed over his body, and when Megatron allowed his optics to receive the feedbacks from Starscream's, connected via the memory drive inside the leader's head, the silver gun-former found himself staring at soft-blue sky; underneath was ground, muddy brown and totally boring since there was no life-forms at all to observe.

**Frag it, where is the slagging Autobot when you need one?**

Megatron stalled as the words registered in his processors – they weren't expressed by him. Instead, a dull heat throbbed where he knew the newly-installed device was located. _So…this must be Starscream's thoughts_, the silver tyrant concluded, amused as frustration flooded a small portion of his systems, identifying it to be coming from the absent Seeker as he tried to no avail to relieve the dullness of his patrol.

**That slag-maker wouldn't know if I went off a bit, would he? **Again Starscream's thoughts entered his processors as the flyer adjusted his trajectory path to somewhere not exactly included in his patrol perimeter. The irony of it all made the warlord released a dark chuckle, finding the whole affairs rather amusing. Of course, he knew what his Air Commander was doing.

To Megatron's surprise, he watched through Starscream's optics as the ground below exploded under the Seeker's crazy strafing, missiles going off like wounded flyer on collision course. The silver dictator sighed in exasperation; if this was what his Second was doing every time he went on patrol duty, Starscream had actually wasted valuable arms doing these pointless bombardments.

This activity lasted for about half a breem before Starscream seemed to realize that his shift was going to end soon. Megatron closed himself from the mental connection when he noticed that his Air Commander was heading for Nemesis, knowing exactly how to 'greet' the jet when he returned, the memory drive settling into dormancy as the last vestige of the link faded. The Decepticon leader pushed himself off his berth and onto his pedes, striding with all the triumphant air that was surrounding him when he made his way to the Command Centre and sat down on his throne. Now, all he had to do was wait.

Sure enough, the on-duty mech – Mixmaster this time – answered Starscream's request for the surfacing of Nemesis's docking tower only a few kliks after Megatron's arrival. It was the cue for the warlord to re-activate his memory drive while ordering the Constructicon to leave the place at once – Megatron wanted to deal with his Starscream uninterrupted. The lime-and-purple mech obeyed without a word, though his red optics did not hide the puzzlement at all at this command. Megatron ignored the Decepticon chemist, his attention attuned only to Starscream at this moment.

Barely a klik later, the door of the Command Centre hissed open, revealing a weary Starscream behind it, faceplates twisting into an expression of nasty surprise upon seeing the silver mech that sat on the high throne instead of Mixmaster who answered his request previously. Megatron smirked; he was definitely going to enjoy this…

Starscream stared hard at his leader, crimson optics glowing bright with surprise even though he tried hard not to let his emotions showed.

"Ah, my devious Seeker, you have returned," Megatron's rumbling voice was intoned in such a way that he sounded almost sweet, but Starscream knew better the underlying emotion that run beneath the surface.

"Of course, Lord Megatron. What is expected of me is to go on a patrol duty, which I did without fail," Starscream replied carefully. Usually he would accompany his answer with sarcasm, but the repairs still stung, making him reluctant to be his usual irritating self.

Megatron, still seated cross-legged on his high seat, stroked his chin in mocking thoughtfulness. At the gesture, Starscream's only thought was a nervous _uh-oh, that's not good._

"Well, you _did_ accomplish your patrol turn; that much I granted. However…do extending patrol zone to exceed 20 miles its usual radius and pointless strafing during duty are included in the list?" Megatron leaned forward, optic ridge raised in question, lip components carving a devious smile.

Starscream felt his body froze in shock; how did Megatron knew that? He couldn't have possibly monitored his movements, could he?

"M-my lord, I don't understand; what are you talking about?" the jet feigned innocence in the hope that Megatron's words were merely a seriously lucky wild guess.

Growling his usual dark chuckle, the Decepticon Supreme Commander rose from his throne and descended the steps, striding straight for the now trembling Seeker. A black servo was extended once he was within reach of Starscream, cupping a side of his dark face, tracing the line running from his optic to his chin.

"Oh, you know _exactly _what I'm talking about, as I know _exactly _what I'm talking about. Pretenses are futile, as are resistances…"

Starscream's whole body went rigid even further at his leader's touch; if he was not reminded of who was performing it, it would have felt _lovely_. As it was, only shivers of fear running down his backstruts.

"I-I…don't get it –"

Suddenly, the world lost gravity in a blur of silver, white, red and blue as Megatron court-martialed the Second-In-Command using skills he gained back when he was a gladiator. Pain erupted in every sensor in his body as his chassis hit the floor with a loud _clang_, face-down. Starscream had only enough nanokliks to be grateful that his wings did not receive the impact when a painful heaviness pressed down on his left wing, eliciting a pained gasp from the Seeker.

"Lord Megatron…!"

Said mech's laughter floated to his audio sensors at the pitiful begging, but the foot placed on his flying appendage only dug deeper. "Starscream…I warned you that your craftiness will no longer serve you. Whatever it is that cross your processors…_I will know_," Megatron growled.

Starscream briefly considered that Megatron was bluffing when he said that, looking to the fact that he was no telepath; he was not Soundwave, only Soundwave could read minds, and even that he could protect himself against…he was sure that he could block –

"Oh, is that so, Starscream? You thought that your firewalls are strong enough against me? You have no idea what power I possess over you, Starscream…"

The jet whimpered in both surprise and pain; Megatron answered exactly what he has been thinking! _No, no, no! This isn't possible! This just can't be true! Megatron couldn't have become telepathic…!_

"Did you not believe me? I have said that I will know whatever it is that cross your processors…don't tempt fate. You see the evidences of my ability already, Starscream. Accept the fact as it is. I am better than you…and you will always be second to me…second in everything!"

Starscream's whimpering continued as the pressure on his wings became almost splittingly painful – he would have begged for his mercy, but the shock of having Megatron answering each and every one of his thought with unerring accuracy deprived his processors of his routine pleas. The litany of _this isn't possible this isn't possible _crossing his minds was almost a prayer to him…only it was answered by Megatron's amused voice:

"Yes, yes, Starscream! It is possible, it is happening even now. Do not deny it. It is true, all of it. Accept the truth as it is! You are mine, Starscream…always be mine!"

Miserable and desperate in his helplessness, repetitious sobs grew louder and louder from his vocal passage, the Air Commander buried his face into the floor, ignoring the creaks of his nose bridge as it pressed down, and croaked:

"I…I am yours, Megatron, always…"

His insides burnt from the confession, humiliation corroding at him like acids that he could not wash forever. He had spoken quite the same words once, at his promotion ceremony to Megatron's Second-In-Command, but he had not felt the binds then – Starscream knew that it was an official vow in military, and apparently Megatron had taken the oath's exact wording for his own army. He had, therefore, felt no serious tie to it, considering it a necessity to be officially declared as the SIC…but now, to say it out loud, wings under Megatron's feet, his thoughts answered again and again by the tyrant, Starscream knew that he was admitting himself as the Decepticon's prisoner.

"Good, Starscream. And remember; _I know each and every thought that cross your processors_," with the last warning being delivered, Lord Megatron lifted his foot from the Seeker's wings, leaving behind a perfect imprint of its sole. Starscream frantically scrambled to his pedes, tears of indignation threatening to burst through from behind the lens of his optics. He had suffered enough, he didn't need to have the degradation of having his leader watching him spill coolants through his optic ducts. Whether or not Megatron wanted him to stay, Starscream could not find in himself strong enough reason to care. So he ran.

He ran as if his activation depended on it, Megatron's cruel laughter ringing in his audios and bouncing off the walls of Nemesis's Command Centre. He knew then, that even if he still had his wings intact, even if he had not chains binding him, that this was no different than slavery, one of which he could not see a way of escape…

**XXXXX**

"Hey ya, boss, don't cha' think Screamer's been…quiet?"

If anything, Soundwave found Rumble's statement as an understatement. Scratch 'quiet', the cassette-deck found that the Decepticon Air Commander acted like more or less a mindless drone. However, he found that voicing his own opinion in this matter was rather unnecessary so he replied instead:

"Observation: Correct. Further explanation: unavailable." Though he had a _very _good idea of the cause…

Soundwave and his cassette-minions had a whole table for themselves as they downed their morning energon rations in the mess hall. The 3IC took his own sweet time to finish his while surveying the other Decepticons there – some were already half-inebriated from having indulged in too much high-grades (Soundwave mentally listed their names down for some scolding later) and were causing a slight havoc when Dirge (who was fully inebriated compared to the rest) actually flew around the mess hall in his jet alt-mode. Further damage was thankfully prevented by Ramjet and Thrust who managed to grab onto either wing and brought him down.

"Shame the show can't go on…" Frenzy added rather mournfully as they saw the offensive Conehead being dragged out by his trine-mates out of the place. "I'd like to see him rammed his funny head through – "

"Request: Irrelevant," Soundwave quickly interfered; he had a buzzing in his logic circuits that he didn't really want to hear what the red cassette wanted to say next. He really wondered how on Cybertron he managed to cooperate with his two creations with their un-Soundwave personalities.

"I'm just joking, boss!" Frenzy countered defensively.

"Joke: Unacceptable."

The humanoid cassettes groaned in dismal – Rumble going as far as commenting that Soundwave 'needed more time out than ordering mechs around'.

At Soundwave's pedes, Ravage was dunking its snout into his cube of energon, obviously unaware of the little arguments between his master and cassette-comrades – or he might just pretend obliviousness. The navy-and-white mech found the panther-bot's preference for seclusion something to be thanked for or he had to hear the whining of three cassettes instead of two. Laserbeak, meanwhile, was obviously just as interested to the sudden commotion of the three Coneheads as Frenzy and Rumble, but, like Ravage, he found that to argue with Soundwave was a stupid thing to do.

The door suddenly slid apart and a very familiar figure walked – no, _shuffled _– into the mess hall. Rumble, Frenzy, and pretty much every Decepticon present there watched, mouth agape, at the sight of their Air Commander's inglorious entrance. Dull red optics didn't seem to really taking in the views before him except for the stacks of energon cubes at the end of the mess hall. Murmurs rose among the troops at Starscream's obvious undignified appearance – he was dirty, as if he had given up washing three orns ago. Once held high and proud, his wings drooped pitifully on either side, twitching once in a while to signal his discomfort. Granted, his fellow Decepticons would gladly ridiculed him out loud, but the presences of his two trinemates –Thundercracker and Skywarp – flanking Starscream's either side made even the hardiest of them all thought twice about it. Only a downright fool did not know the consequences of messing with Seekers with a troubled trinemember to protect.

Soundwave was hardly a soft-Sparked Autobot, but his telepathy meant that he was rather susceptible to others' emotions – and Starscream's was affecting him greatly. If once his probing was met with unyielding firewalls, Starscream's mind now was not unlike Cybertron itself – dead, deprived of energy and wandering aimlessly in the emptiness of space. No one escaped unscathed once he had felt such frailty; not even Soundwave.

Starscream was aware of the many optics directed in his ways. Before, such attention would earn them snarky comebacks or maybe a hit or two from his null-rays; nowadays, he just couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. For what? His life was a joke now – seemingly free outside, but inescapably chained on the inside. At his sides, he did not fail to notice the angry glare Skywarp and Thundercracker shot at the onlookers, nor did he missed the concerned look they shared with each other. Never had he felt the presences of his two trinemates more welcoming as he sat down at a table at the most secluded corner he could find; Skywarp mirrored the SIC and took a seat on his left while Thundercracker went off to fetch them their morning rations.

It was rather unnerving for the rather talkative Skywarp to sit with a silent, almost apathetic Starscream, but his trineleader had been in this state for three orns. He had no choice but adapt to Starscream's new personality, no matter how unpleasant that was. Thundercracker returned with three energon cubes, one for each, and flopped down into a chair on Starscream's right. Skywarp finished his in three astroseconds, but Starscream only stared at his cube with dreamy optics, fingers dancing around the cube's edge without really realizing it.

The blue Seeker noticed how lost in thought Starscream appeared to be and placed a servo upon the other's. Starscream flinched, the simple gesture having successfully pulled him out of processor-drift.

"Feeling alright, Starscream?" Thundercracker asked carefully. The expressionless face that Starscream had was a far cry from the Starscream that the blue-and-white jet was used to, and truth to be told, he was more than worried for his trineleader.

"No, but I'll function." Starscream did not even bother to be annoying like he usually did, returning his attention quickly to the untouched energon before him.

"Well, you better finish your rations quickly so we can get the Pit out of here," Thundercracker insisted, gesturing at the other's energon cube. "I'm sick of getting watched like we are some overgrown petro-rabbits."

Skywarp actually giggled at the unlikely comparison but was quickly silenced by a glare, aside from a wave of displeasure he received via their Seeker bond, from the blue jet-former. Skywarp still had some issue in being tactless, but at least he was improving on the subject thanks to Thundercracker's patience in correcting the purple jet-former when he needed it.

"I don't care about them," Starscream replied curtly; however, he did take a sip of his energon, unconsciously heeding the blue Seeker's advice.

"Well, we _do_," Thundercracker countered; he was relieved that Skywarp supported him with energetic nods instead of returning to his cackling fits. "Whether you want it or not, you are still the Decepticon Air Commander and Second-In-Command. You got to have respect from those lots, and on top of that, you are our _trineleader_; highs or lows, we'll get through them together."

Such display of affection would have surely earned them displeasure from Megatron, who was virtually Sparkless himself, if he was in the vicinity – showing any sense of Autobot-like soft-Sparkedness was a universal taboo when in Nemesis. However, seeing Starscream being reduced to such pitiful irresponsiveness made it hard for Thundercracker to care about anything outside of his trine.

"Yeah, TC's right; you can't go on like this, Screamer. You've been a good trineleader to us – it's time for us to help you through this," Skywarp supplied. This time, Thundercracker was rather surprised at the genuine concern the purple-and-black flyer was showing through his voice. By the subtle brightening in his optics, he judged that Starscream was just equally shocked at the uncharacteristic openness.

Starscream regained his composure soon enough and replied, "For the love of Primus! I'm not virus-ridden or anything, it's just –"

Whatever the colourful Seeker had to spill remained unspoken when he suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his helm cocked slightly to a side as if listening to a voice belonging to some unseen speaker. Whatever it was, it couldn't have been good as was indicated by the droop in Starscream's wings and the shoulder-plates slumping in obvious distress.

"What is it?" Skywarp asked before Thundercracker could begin.

"Databurst from the oh-so-mighty Megatron – meeting in rec. room in 2 breems," the dull tone Starscream used was enough to tell even the slowest processors that he was not very happy about the notion.

"Strange – He didn't comm. link us about anything," the purple-and-black jet wondered aloud; Megatron usually called for assembly if there was a raid to be done in near future and he normally included Seekers in his battle plan. After all, aerial assaults were an obvious advantage the Decepticons had over the Autobots, looking at the fact that their enemies had no flight-capable mechs.

Starscream shook his helm, equally as puzzled. "Who knows what's been crossing the Slag-maker's processors? If I do, it'll be I who sit on the throne, not he."

It was as if Starscream had been hit with a null-ray; the Air Commander stiffened so much it looked as if his motor-bearings had frozen over, though in reality the temperature in the mess hall was quite warm. Through their Seeker bond, both Thundercracker and Skywarp felt the ghostly sensation of dread and horror from their trineleader as the horrible memories were pulled out of his data banks. The sting of them was so potent that the two Seekers would have flinched had they had lesser self-restraint; they knew how much worse it would feel to Starscream if his trinemates displayed any form of discomfort at his _own _predicament of having discovered Megatron's processors-filtering ability.

"Well," Starscream spoke suddenly after rousing himself from the haze of processors-drift upon seeing the Casetticons folded themselves and slipped into Soundwave's chest-piece. Then, the cassette-deck himself left his place and went out of the mess hall – obviously the 3IC had received similar summons. "I better get going or I'm in for another beating – and I have enough of our _lovely_ leader's touch, _thank you_."

"Err…um, yeah, see you later, Screamer."

"Don't call me that!" the red-blue-white flyer snapped, more out of habit than because of any real anger towards the black-and-purple Seeker, and rose from his seat. He didn't even bother to finish his little-touched cube of energon so Skywarp, ever the opportunist, gulped in down in a single go.

Thundercracker said his farewells too, but Starscream was at ill ease to reply anything in return – the thought of having to face Lord Megatron again was far too disconcerting to let any other thoughts rule his logic circuits.

As Starscream made his way to the rec. room, he could not help but be puzzled by Megatron's newfound ability – to read his processors as if he was telepathic himself. That was three orns ago, but the feelings were still fresh in his CPU; the shock, the dread, the _humiliation_, all felt as if it happened only a few kliks ago. It made him feel vulnerable, exposed and somewhat _tainted_ – his mind was only next to his Spark in his priority list that he would do whatever it takes to protect them both. His mind was his own private sanctuary, a place where he could retreat to nurse his injured pride after receiving his more-often-than-not unjust punishments. To have that sanctuary ripped away from him…Starscream couldn't even be sure if he could live out another orn like this. Though he had no details over the extent of Megatron's ability, the knowledge that the silver warlord could access his thoughts was very much disturbing, it exhausted the Seeker both mentally and physically.

When the Air Commander arrived at his destination, he was not surprised that everyone else was already there. There was Megatron, of course, the summoner himself, sitting smugly in his designated chair at the far end of the meeting table, datapads strewn untidily before him. He held one of them in his servo, optics scanning the information on it with rarely-seen attentiveness. The other servo tapped one digit rhythmically on the metallic surface of the table, further displaying his single-minded attention. At his left side, in the official position of Decepticon Third-In-Command, was Soundwave. The navy-and-white mech was as stoic as ever, visor neither flashing nor dimming, which usually meant that he was not emotionally affected. In fact, he was hardly ever. However, what caught his attention was the unusual addition to the crowd – Scrapper and Scavenger. Judging by the expressions on both Constructicons' faceplates, Starscream dared betting his orn's worth of energon rations that neither of them were aware why they were called to attend this meeting – if Megatron felt like using Devastator, he would only call one representative, usually Scrapper or Hook. The Decepticon overlord never called both of them together.

Starscream's own seat, at Megatron's right, remained unoccupied, to the Seeker's huge relief. There were orns when the Air Commander thought he had gone too far in testing the Decepticon Supreme Commander which was usually indicated by him slagged to a pile of energon-covered metals. During those times, Starscream would always feared that the next time he attended meeting, the seat for Second-In-Command would be no longer reserved to him alone – that Megatron demoted him to lower office and raised another in his previous stead. However, until this very astrosecond, Megatron somehow still saw him fit to be the next in leadership even after all those treason he had committed – not that he was complaining, mind you.

Once Starscream took his place, Megatron put down the datapad he had been examining and surveyed the present mechs. To others, the brief sweep of the red optics meant only that Megatron acknowledged them, but to Starscream, he knew that the nanoklik's glare the leader granted him contained an unspoken threat that he alone could decipher; _defy me, and you will pay dearly for it._

Starscream had no intention to disobey, not after knowing the possibility of Megatron catching glimpses of his twisted thoughts whenever he thought of betraying the Decepticon Commander.

"We have a situation, here," Megatron began unceremoniously. He was never the type to make his speech poetic or full of lengthy introductions, preferring to go straight to the point. "We are low on energon and Cybertron had not received supply from us for almost two quartexes."

_Like I'm not aware of that already_, Starscream thought. The instant it crossed his mind, however, Megatron shot a venomous glance in his direction, causing the Air Commander to coil inwardly.

He _knew._

However, Megatron chose to spare himself the need to further chastising his Second and continued on. "We must make raids soon or risk malfunctions among the troops. Soundwave has reported that our stocks are estimated to last for only another two orns – and that if and _only if_ each of you does not exceed the assigned rations." He gestured towards the stacks of datapads on the table in front of him and continued, "On top of that, I have pinpointed the location of our next target."

So saying, a holographic screen popped up before each of the present Decepticons, readily displaying a map of power plant and its exact coordinate –

"But Megatron, that location is unsuitable!" Starscream realized too late that his habit of pointing out flaws in his leader's plan had resurfaced. This time, Megatron made no attempt to hide the cold fury bubbling just beneath his faked calmness.

"Oh, the _brilliant_ Starscream finally found his voice, I see. Indulge me then; why do my chosen location, like _hundreds_ of others before, is unsuitable?"

The whole room fell silent at this – it did not have to take much works for even the most inefficient processors to detect the incoming threat in Megatron's tone.

"I…ah, that location…we have raided it in the past lunar cycle! If we attack it again this early – the security around that place must still be high, not to mention the possibility of Autobots monitoring the area too." Truthfully, Starscream did not know why he did even bother to explain himself to the Slag-maker. Every time he did, nothing good ever resulted from it but his beatings and a trip to the med-bay.

"I see," Megatron replied, mockingly calm. "But I also have to remind you that we are short on energon, which means that we _can't _travel far without exhausting ourselves for the journey and – as you have so _kindly _pointed out – we may have to confront the Autobots, which also means that we have to arrive there _battle-ready_."

"But Meg –"

"– but nothing, Starscream. I have heard enough. We will proceed as _I _have planned. You are certainly _not _welcomed to interrupt me."

Having said that, Megatron proceeded in explaining his battle plans to the present Decepticons, pointedly ignoring Starscream's failed attempt to reason with the leader. In the end, the Air Commander was forced to swallow all the arguments filling his logic circuits even though the possibility for failures if they continue with Megatron's designs was decidedly high.

It turned out that Megatron had called for the two Constructicons because he needed Scavenger's expertise in geology to detect the most vulnerable site of the power plant to breach, aside from his usual requirement for them to form Devastator, which was the reason for Scrapper's attendance. Having discovered this, Starscream couldn't help but feel humiliated – that sorts of things were the jobs of a Second-In-Comand! Megatron did not need Scavenger's opinions on Earth's features to devise a battle plan that would succeed – Starscream was more than qualified for it!

However, before he had the chance to interrupt Megatron again, the need to do so was spared by – surprisingly – Soundwave.

"Attention: Lord Megatron."

The Decepticon Supreme Commander's words halted at the call of his name. Jealousy inescapably swept Starscream's processors at the Spark-aching sight; had he attempted similar things, the least he would get was a faceplates-scrunching backslap.

Soundwave, on the other servo, received undivided attention from Megatron, whose optics were kept locked on his 3IC's visor. A subtle nod signified the permission granted to continue.

"Devastator: Unrequired. Reason: Laserbeak's surveillance reveals structural weakness in building. Collective firepower is enough to destroy external walls," Soundwave's drone-like voice carried across the rec. room easily, given that Megatron was giving the navy-and-white mech unrestrained freedom for explanation – and when Megatron paid attention, it would do well for others to follow suit.

"And what will happen if the Autobots arrive before we finish making enough energon cubes? The power plant is quite near to their base," Megatron inquired. His voice held patience within it, a note that never failed to miss whenever the warlord spoke to Starscream.

"Suggestion: Destroy means of communication before starting production."

"What about Telatraan-1? The Skyspy? They will surely pick up our activities."

"Suggestion: Deploy Laserbeak to spy on Autobot Headquarter. Explanation: Early warning to Autobot's movement and allow Decepticons to prepare for early escape."

Megatron's _excellent, Soundwave_ was in synch with the one running in Starscream's processors, knowing too well the warlord's respond to every one of the telepathic mech's suggestion.

If only Megatron would praise him just as much…

It was time like this that the flyer was grateful for his silent cooling systems – his cooling fans were working at high gears from having to lower his core temperatures which resulted from his extreme anger. He did not fully successful in restraining his body from showing his emotions, though – the annoyed flicks of his wings might be subtle, he having learned to temper his physical reactions more readily compared to the other Seekers, but they still showed. So engrossed he was in dealing with his inner urges to throw up tantrums, the jet-former barely realized of Megatron's declaration of "Decepticons, dismiss."

Starscream allowed his vents to cycle an intake in relief as the meeting came to its end; he was about to get up and followed the others out of the room when he was stopped in his track by Megatron's voice calling for him from his seat:

"Not you, Starscream. I am not done with you yet."

Several pairs of optics automatically looked in his direction but were quickly averted away – Megatron in his wrath was a scary thing to behold and Starscream's obvious fear did nothing to assuage the uneasiness quelling in the leaving Decepticons. The last to leave was Soundwave; there was something in his pause that made Starscream all the more angry – he did not need audience to witness his humiliation in the hands of the leader – and bared his dentas warningly at the telepathic mech. Soundwave stalled at the display, waited a few more astroseconds before leaving the place when Megatron did not pay any mind to his presence. It was nothing to be really grateful about, but at least he only had to endure this torture alone. This thought did not, however, ease any worry weighing in his CPU and in a display of extreme anxiety, his wings arched so high on his back that they formed a tight 'V'.

"Yes, Lord Megatron?" Starscream began cautiously. The Seeker was grateful that his voice did not come out shaky with fear – even if he did not look forward to whatever Megatron had in his twisted processors, at least he could faked out bravado before the warlord.

Megatron, still sitting in his designated chair, leaned forward slightly and growled, "I am intrigued, Starscream. Of all things, I expect your complete obedience after the demonstration of my…ability. And yet, here you are, still stubbornly defying me and strive for my humiliation."

Starscream could neither suppress the shudder coursing through his colourful chassis nor the nervous flutters of his wings; even if ten vorns had passed, the vividness of the memories would never fade, not when the horror of it was so overwhelmingly devastating…nor the indignity of having to concede being Megatron's property. He had heard a fleshling's saying that time could heal any hurt, save death, but he doubted very much that such cure would affect him. He was of a long-living race of Transformer, and he was inarguably vengeful; a being like him was condemned to suffer the torture of millennia of unfading memories, be them pleasant or hurtful.

Alongside his obvious fear, Starscream felt heat of annoyance rose in his systems, making him spat out in bitterness, "If informing you of the many flaws in your grandiose designs is considered treachery, _mighty_ Megatron, then Primus tell me what use is having a SIC at your side! I expect even your limited CPU can process that, or are you a worse glitch-head than I perceive?"

The Air Commander could barely process the sudden blurs of silver dancing before his rage-clouded optics before his sensory networks on his midsection exploded with razor-sharp pain from the strength of Megatron's punching fist. It was times like these that the tyrant unleashed his full gladiatorial capabilities, moving with speed belying his bulky size and tremendous age – even by Cybertronian standard, Megatron was considered old, having lived through the planet's Golden Age and brought about its fall _and_ was still battling for undisputed dominance over it. Seekers were granted with one of the most efficient battle circuits ever equipped in Transformers, they having to deal with the complexity of flight, and Starscream proved to be one of the most skillful flyers the Cybertron War Academy had ever seen, and yet, he was still unable to dodge Megatron's charge. That he was a little overburdened with his emotions might have contributed to his slow reaction, but the fact that the larger Decepticon had managed to move so fast so as to catch Starscream unguarded was something to be credited.

Not that Starscream could process much right now with his sensitive mid-riff plating dented and blazing with fresh pain. The punch had also caught the lower part of his cockpit and smashed the yellow glass, the pieces scattering around the Seeker as he curled himself into a protective ball on the floor. He could feel the warmth of spilled energon-blood smeared all over the abused section, adding to the agony of it all.

"Don't you ever dare raise your voice before your leader, Screamer. I regard very highly of manners; I barely tolerate the lack of them. That includes you, Second or no," Megatron's words floated to his audios clearly even though the Decepticon Commander did not shout them out. He did not have to with his voice being naturally loud, plus the ever-present growl of threat in it compelled the listeners to latch onto every syllable spoken.

Starscream wanted to argue back; he longed to snap before the leader's face that he would give his respect only if Megatron deserved it; he longed to shout at Megatron that he was merely doing his job to correct the leader, and he was being unjustly punished because of his boldness to do so; he longed to scream that Megatron was unfit to be leader of the Decepticons and the army would benefit so much more if he was out of the way. These and so much more he wanted to spit out, but his vocalizer was not very cooperative – overwhelmed by the sensations of pain his sensor nodes were sending his CPU, the Seeker discovered that the only sound he could make was pitiful whimpers.

Apparently, he did not need his voice to make his thoughts known.

Another series of pain hit his neural networks so viciously that he screamed to the best of his ability when Megatron's pede landed on his left wing, multiplying the agony further by squashing the sheet metal with firm twists of his leg. Starscream's torso arched up, only to be slammed down again by mighty hands grabbing the back of his helmet. Further attempt of struggles was thwarted when the Seeker was pinned down to the floor by Megatron's knee digging painfully into the seams where his wings were attached to his backstrut. Clear optical fluids burst through tiny ducts behind his lens as the torture exceeded his tolerance, his vocalizer spilling pleas he could not even hear himself.

"Starscream, Starscream…obviously you need lessons in manners if this is how you behave before your superior. Remember this, my Second; when I take on followers, I expect them to bend their will _completely _to me – never to question my orders but to merely follow them. Respect is a must – I do not need to prove myself to earn my underlings' loyalties. As for your duties…I will heed your advice only if I see fit to do so! You wish to overthrow me Starscream? Ha! I take a Second-In-Command _not _because I wish to be succeeded…on the contrary, I wish to never be succeeded at all. I do so because there needs to be a chain of command in my army so that order is always in place…even when I am away." Megatron paused to apply more pressure to the now slightly-crumpled wings before speaking again, "And I promise you this, Starscream; even when I am away, I will _always _return. No one sits in my throne but _myself_."

Starscream's vents sputtered in having to cope with the abusive pressure of being pinned down while trying to take in air to cool down his overheating internals. Cooling fans roared at full blast now that the sound of them whirring could be faintly heard despite all the silencing mechanisms. However, all these seemed insignificant right now compared to the dread he was experiencing – once again, Megatron answered to each and every one of his thoughts! He did not need Megatron's threats or pain-inducing touches to reduce him to a lowly, cowering wretch who existed only to beg for release. The knowledge that his thoughts were somehow laid bare for the warlord to assess was enough to degrade him like nothing else could.

"Y-yes…I understand, Megatron…please…"

"That's _Lord_ Megatron to you!"

"_Lord Megatron!"_

His subservience thankfully led to decrease in stress on his wing, and for that, Starscream could cower at the feet of his tormentor for as long as Megatron wanted him to. Let other Decepticons whispered words of indignity behind him; let even Megatron himself thought him as a cowardly slag-metal; whatever whoever said, his only purpose was to prolong his existence. As long as he remained online, the hope that one orn, he would be free to choose his own life, to live by his own rule, remained alive…

"Still very ambitious, aren't you, Starscream? You do realize that your position now is in no way fitting of a leader, don't you?" Even his tone was enough to convey the sheer mockery of the statement without Starscream needing to see the faceplates that were likely to smirk at his helplessness. Not that he could with Megatron's gladiatorial mass weighing down on his spinal-strut while the warlord knelt on his back, the other pede left free to brutalize the sensitive wing.

"No, leader…p-please…!" Starscream would have unleashed so much more pleas if only given the chance but his faceplates were being crushed to the cold floor which hindered him to form coherent enough sounds.

"…I will enjoy disciplining you so much, my traitorous Second, but I still need you and your sorry trine for my next raid. Until then…take care not to even _think _of betraying me."

Relief swept the colourful jet-chassis like cold energon over heated metals the instant Megatron retrieved his pede and stood up. The intensity of his optics scrutinizing Starscream's pathetic form lying curled on the energon-smeared floor felt like almost physical while the Seeker waited for his energy to return. They were ones of the worst astroseconds Starscream had to endure, being under the leader's contempt-filled gaze while he himself was unable to escape it. Starscream's resoluteness lent him the necessary strength to scramble to his pede even as his wing still stung and his back ached from the ungentle treatments.

"Prepare the Air Forces. I expect you and your dynametal ducks of Seekers to be ready in 4 breems," Megatron ordered. The obvious finality in his tone informed the injured Seeker that it was time for his departure or risked further damage – something he could not afford when he was at the brink of possible battles. He turned to leave, not bothering to even spare himself further indignity of bowing his homage to the leader.

Megatron's dark chuckles reached his audio preceptors even as he exited the room. He suppressed a shiver that threatened to visualize his fear in hearing such sinister sounds but the perk of his wings betrayed him. Megatron was already seated in his chair, the same chair he had occupied throughout the meeting, his back turned towards the Seeker, but somehow he seemed to sense Starscream's feelings when he said, "Oh, don't bother with your pathetic bowing, Starscream. I will ensure it myself you _cower _at my feet when we are done with this energy crisis."

Starscream didn't wait any longer. Even though his joint-servos creaked with protest, the Seeker forced himself to leave the place as fast as his pede could tolerate his forcing. He had had enough; Megatron as it was was bad enough; with his new processors-assessing ability, the warlord would now haunt him every nanoklik that his Spark pulsed with life.

**XXXXX**

The air hummed with faint revs of engines as the Decepticon raiding party, consisting of a few Coneheads, Soundwave, the command trine and Megatron himself, made its way to the aforementioned power plant. As usual, Megatron was positioned appropriately, at the forefront of the formation while the rest trailed behind him in their official position. Starscream was at his right, his wingmates following in his wake in their own Seeker formation while. The ever-loyal Soundwave still, like many flights before this, occupied the space to Megatron's left.

The flight wasn't as long as the Decepticons were used to since the power plant's location was not very far from their underwater base. Thus it was that it only took about half a joor to reach their destination and to Starscream's secret relief, the Autobots were nowhere in sight. A quick scan on the perimeter confirmed Soundwave's earlier reconnaissance that the security had been escalated, but it was nowhere near enough to give the Decepticons serious threat. However, Starscream was in no doubt whatsoever that the hotline was tuned ready to contact the Autobots should the need arise.

The moment they passed the imaginary line which Starscream privately dubbed as the 'Safe Zone', Megatron turned his head ever so slightly and spoke to the Air Commander.

"Starscream, deploy your Seekers for aerial cover."

"As you wish, Lord Megatron."

The red-blue-white flyer wasted no time to contact his trinemates via the comm. link.

::Starscream to Thundercracker and Skywarp.::

The aforementioned Seekers answered without fail, knowing all too well the procedure, waiting only for the order to be vocalized.

::Thundercracker responding.::

::Skywarp here.::

::Thundercracker, cover the East and North quadrant. Skywarp, keep an optic on Weast and South. I'll join you after I disrupt the generators. Return when I call to transport the energon cubes.::

There was a pause in their exchange, a pause in which hesitance from the inferior flyers' hesitance travelled through the Seeker bond and flooded Starscream's processors. At any other time, he would have appreciated such sentiments, but at the brink of battles they were at best distractive. Annoyed, he snapped through the connection as well as letting his own feelings washed over his wing-brothers.

::What?::

::Will you be alright?:: Thundercracker's tone indicated that he was the least troubled by Starscream's irritation.

::Of course I'll be alright, you useless pile of flying scraps! Why shouldn't I?::

::'coz you're not acting like you are these orns.:: Skywarp supplied dully. ::C'mon, Screamer, don't lie to us. You can pretend being a pain in the afts in front of the other 'Cons, but not to us. We know you. When you spat at us in private, you're nervous.::

Starscream did not respond immediately – he could almost imagine tiny gears and pulleys turning in his cranial plating as his CPU worked out the best possible response. They acknowledge the source of his less-than-best state and were worried if his battle performances would be diminished. He himself could not deny the possibility of it – failure to other Decepticons meant almost-fried circuits in their audio preceptors due to Megatron's ceaseless rants. To him, it meant malfunctioning almost 89% of bodily functions after a good beating from the silver gun-former.

::Mind your businesses. I know what I'm doing.::

::Good luck, then.::

And with that, the blue and the purple jets split off from the main formation.

"Prepare for attack," Megatron declared suddenly, pulling Starscream's attention off the retreating figures of his jet mates. The Air Commander swooped off as was expected of him, strafing the main entrance with missiles at the guard booth. The tiny structure was engulfed in flame in a few nanokliks. The usual music of screaming humans reached Starscream's audios as they fled from the carnage and heightened his spirits. He pulled off his dive a mere hundred feet from the ground, thrusters firing at full capacity to battle gravity and shot off like a high-strung arrow skywards. Reaching suitable height, he entered another spiraling dive over the rooftop of the power plant, unleashing the power of his machine-guns on the radars and communication disks perched atop the building. As the last of communication antennas fell in broken pieces, he knew that the humans now had no means to contact the Autobots.

Now, only if he could be as sure that they did not manage to call for help before he destroyed their communication systems…

Starscream did not linger long on the notion; Megatron had already blasted an entrance through the side wall with his Fusion Cannon. The Decepticon Supreme Commander would have already waited for his null-rays inside. Starscream maneuvered himself through the hole with amazing precision that not a scratch marred his paintjob as he entered the building, transforming into his root-mode as he went.

"The null-rays, Starscream," Megatron said and pointed to nearby generators. Said Seeker understood and immediately set to work, firing off his characteristic weapons at the gigantic machines and stopping their functions.

Meanwhile, off to one corner, Soundwave was also busy with his role; the Communication Expert having deployed Ravage to chase off whatever humans foolish enough to remain behind, was now starting to produce empty cubes to be later filled with energon. Rumble and Frenzy had just finished unfolding themselves from their cassette modes, ready to initiate energon cube production. Laserbeak was nowhere in sight for the bird-like cassette was off spying in the Ark, as was planned earlier.

From there on, everything ran in monotonous progression; Megatron stood at the sideline, arms folded before his chest-piece while observing with critical optics as Rumble, Frenzy and the Reflector-gestalts worked to fill the empty cubes produced by Soundwave. Starscream, sure that he was not needed here anymore, was about to take off, already half-transforming into his F-15 jet mode, when Megatron's sneer caught his audios.

"Leaving, eh, Starscream?"

The Air Commander suppressed the reasoning his battle circuits threw into his processors, urging him to ignore the call, to leave as quickly as he could, to get as far away as possible from the larger mech.

He did none of these, considering the worse circumstances he would end up in compared to if he stayed and endured the insults. He reversed his transformation sequence and turned to face the leader.

"My trine needs me up in the air; we will be of more use there. We fly to such heights that we can spot the incoming Autobots – if they come at all – and warn you beforehand," Starscream countered. He refused to avert his optics from clashing with the leader's even though doing that in itself was a torture. It was as if he sensed Megatron's meta-processors probing into his data banks, stripping him bare of privacy.

"No," Megatron's smirk widened, showing animalistic fangs jutting from the upper corners of his jaws, "Skywarp and Thundercracker can handle some patrol duties by themselves. If they need reinforcement, they will call. Now spare me your hideous whining and get to work. We must squeeze as much energy as we can from this power plant before Prime and his rag-tag band arrive."

"Preposterous! I am the Decepticon Second-In-Command! I refuse to do manual labours like some – some slave drones!" The jet practically shrieked, ignoring completely the nasty glances the Casetticons and Reflector-gestalts shot in his way. Primus, he had enough enduring Megatron's mental and physical abuses without being unable to claim even such small perks that came with his high office!

As an answer, Megatron raised his cannon arm and tapped the barrel-end of his Fusion Cannon with mocked gentleness on the swell of the Seeker's yellow cockpit, right over his Spark chamber. Starscream's vents skipped an intake cycle as he felt the sensitive glass thrummed from the vibration of the charged weapon.

"You will do as I say, Starscream. This cannon will inflict bodily harm; that will be painful, of course. My mind, though…" Megatron's optics flashed with a mix of glee, menace and anger as he spoke in that low voice that Starscream knew held a muted rage, "One more word, Starscream, and pray that you have firewalls strong enough to hold me back."

Afraid though as he was, the Air Commander refused to display any sign of it. At least he remained rebellious in the optics of his fellow Decepticons even if his leader could assess his feelings as easily as he crushed a fleshling with only two digits. "As you command."

As he worked to convert the raw electrical energy into energon, keeping a sufficient distance between himself and the others, Starscream opened his comm. link to inform his wingmates that he would not be joining them. Before he could initiate the call, though, a series of annoyingly familiar beeps echoed in the area.

Megatron looked immediately towards the source of the sounds – down to his own chest-piece. Lights flickered at either side, a sure sign that Laserbeak was contacting the warlord and delivering his reconnaissance reports.

"The Autobots are on the move," Megatron announced. "Fill in all the cubes and let's get out of here!"

The working Decepticons did not need telling twice; already they were moving twice as fast as before, filling and organizing the cubes in stacks. On the other servo, Starscream chose to leave his current task to return to his trinemates, knowing how full they would have their wings later to thwart the Autobots' coming.

A hard smack landed on the back of his helm the moment he passed by Megatron, knocking him down to his knees.

"You are to be at my side, fool. Your trine does not need you yet. Help me defend the perimeter," Megatron snarled as he grabbed the Seeker by the wing and roughly hauled him up to his pedes, bringing Starscream's head level with his own.

"But –"

"– but NOTHING! Have Thundercracker and Skywarp strafed the Autobots; delay them, buy us some time! These energon cubes are few enough that we don't need their subspaces to transport them!"

Starscream glanced back to see that, yes, they had only managed to produce so little energon cubes that Soundwave, Reflector and his Casetticons would be enough to carry them back to the Nemesis.

"Yes, Megatron," the jet's answer came out in gasps as he struggled with the pain Megatron inflicted on his wing. Thankfully, it was released the instant he gave his reply.

Thundercracker chose that moment to comm. linked his trineleader.

::Thundercracker to Starscream.::

::Starscream here. Report.:: He returned, having a good guess of what this is all about.

::Autobots spotted, half a breem away from your location.::

::Acknowledged. Delay them as best as you can while we load our cargo.::

::…Don't you need us to transport those cubes?::

::Megatron doesn't see it necessary, and for once I agree. Not very much cubes, mind you. That slagger, I told him raiding here will be unprofitable.::

::Thundercracker, where are you? I have that yellow twin chasing my tail!::

The last come from Skywarp; his obvious distress meant only one thing – that he was about to be jet-judoed by either of the Autobot brother, and from his description, it was clear that this time he was being zeroed in by Sunstreaker.

::Uh-oh, Skywarp needs help. Thundercracker out.:: The blue flyer's line went dead so Starscream cut off his own. He realized how much in trouble a Seeker was if one was confronted by the twins' crazy wrenching-Seekers-out-of-the-sky fighting technique and so paid no mind to Thundercracker's abrupt excuse. To Megatron, he reported, "The Autobots are coming."

"Then let's prepare them for more 'welcome' than they would have liked," the silver mech growled and stroked the barrel of his Fusion Cannon.

Starscream said nothing and instead directed his focus to the Eastern horizon, cut short by the rising landscape, in the direction where the Autobot Headquarter lay and from which their enemies were also expected to come from even as Megatron shouted orders for his soldiers to work faster. Sure enough, barely half a breem passed when the Seeker's strained vision caught on the tell-tale kicked-up dust that signified their foes' arrivals. He didn't bother to inform Megatron this time, the displeased hiss from behind a sure sign that his leader had spotted them too.

"Quickly, you fools! Quick before the Autobots arrive!"

Starscream again spared himself from voicing out his opinion that they would not be able to make their escape even if the Decepticons laboured their hardest. Worry tugged in his CPU like an annoying retro-rat munching on a piece of rusted steel when he noticed the absence of a purple and a blue dot hovering in the sky. Given that they have the misfortune to battle the Pit-spawned twins, they would have likely crash-landed somewhere when he did not look.

"Starscream!"

Megatron's call alerted said Seeker just in time to extend a servo and caught his leader-turned gun with familiar precision. Sometimes, Starscream found himself wondering how perfectly his digits fitted into the nooks and crannies of Megatron's alt-mode form, as if servos and gun-handles were deliberately made for each other, nor could he grasp the reason the Decepticon leader trusted him, Starscream, of all mechs, to wield him like he did now. No doubt Megatron's split-astrosecond ability to convert back to his bipedal form decreased the possibility of being toyed around, but the brief nanokliks he was allowed the freedom to touch his leader like this, to confide trusts in one another in battles, made his thoughts wandered…

Starscream shook his helm as soon as processors-drifts threatened to engulf him. No time for that now.

Optics zooming in on a particular large rock perched precariously on a nearby cliff, Starscream pulled on Megatron's trigger without any hesitation.

The Fusion blast unleashed caused recoil to ripple through the gun and spread to Starscream's arm. The tingles were somewhere between ticklish and painful, but the Seeker was used to that sensation by now. So, instead on focusing on the backlash effects, Starscream watched with smug satisfaction as the blast hit the upper base of the cliff, shattering the ground on which the rock laid and caused it tumble down the slope. The familiar blue-and-red semi leading the vehicular convoy, no doubt Optimus Prime, swerved violently sideways in its effort to dodge the falling rock that threatened to smash it to pieces of scrap metal upon landing. Other vehicles trailing behind it followed suit to avoid the danger, momentarily breaking their formation.

Starscream fired a few more blasts at the army of Autobots, focusing largely on Optimus Prime himself. The vehicles scattered only for a while before they were rallied together again by the call of "Autobots, transform and attack!" from the large truck at the head of the team, who was changing itself to become the enigmatic figure of the Autobot Supreme Commander.

As if on cue, the colorful Seeker felt the gun-Megatron in his servo shivered slightly, the only warning Starscream got to release the weapon and allowed the Decepticon warlord to leap-transform back into his robotic form. Megatron stood proud and tall before his makeshift entrance, waiting as usual for his arch-nemesis to arrive. Without looking back to his SIC, he issued, "Starscream, to the air. Aerial assaults for cover. Rally your trine if you can."

It was times like these that Starscream was reminded why he looked up to the Decepticon Commander so highly when he first joined this army, and to some extent, was still holding some respectable amount of admiration for the silver mech. On the battlefield, Megatron was…gorgeous. He was intimidating; he was proud and confident; he was strong and powerful. The perfect antithesis of Optimus Prime.

"Right on it, Megatron," was Starscream's reply as he leapt into the air with a kick of his legs, transforming in mid-air and sped away towards the Autobots. He gained altitude quickly to avoid the open fires from the ground-walking mechs below, dodging, twisting and turning like crazy acrobats as he struggled to avoid their shots. At the same time, missiles flew off their pods like hungry barracudas aiming for their victims. The Earth trembled with each explosion of his missiles, whether they hit their marks or not. The freedom that air gave him, combined with the dangerous excitement of battles, caused his battle circuits to explode with gleeful sensations, while heats and rushing air ignited his sensors that they tore crazed laughs from his vocalizer. To Pit with his whiny voice – as long as these joys belonged to him, he could care less about his defects and basked in the savage glory of war.

Even with battle-haze consumed his logic circuits, Starscream still managed to focus on his objective. He rained the ground below with more missiles while keeping his scanner tuned towards the power plant, waiting for his fellow Decepticons energy signatures to leave the place. His waiting was frosted with further joy when additional strafing joined his own – his scanner detected and analyzed the feels of Thundercracker's and Skywarp's electromagnetic fields closing in on him from behind.

"Hey, we're baaaaacckkkk!" Skywarp shouted over the cacophony of the surroundings' turmoil. He like, Thundercracker, was in his vehicular form and looked perfectly fine – except perhaps for a few minor scratches and patches of dirt here and there, indicating that their encounters with the jet-judoers weren't completely a win for them. Still, they returned, and with noticeable lack of Autobots on their backs – that was enough to have relief swept Starscream's CPU.

"About time, you two. Go ahead and provide –" Starscream paused as a he tilted himself slightly to avoid his wing from being hit by Wheeljack's sneaky shot, "– air cover for Soundwave and the others. They have the cubes – priority is on them."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be fine, Thundercracker. I'm not an Air Commander for nothing. Besides, I'll be more dead if Megatron gets off on me because the cubes aren't delivered safely then having these Autodorks firing on my tail-wings."

The two jets said nothing more and fired off their thrusters at full capacity when they caught sight of said Decepticons flying out of the power plant. Starscream, however, snapped into a tight turn and showered the Autobots with more exploding gifts while he circled above them like a hungry vulture waiting for dying prey to breathe its last.

::Decepticons, RETREAT! We have what we came for!::

Megatron's voice boomed over the public comm. link as soon as the last Decepticon-courier left the encircling walls of the building. Gladly, Starscream obeyed and executed a corkscrew loop to right his trajectory –

"Ah!" The jet cried out as a laser shot burnt the underside of his right wing, right where it joined the fuselage. The smell of melted metal permeated his olfactory sensors along with stinging pain that seared his neural networks, the flight-sensitized chassis multiplying the burning sensation. For a few astroseconds he spiraled downwards before his training took control and he managed to stabilize his flight.

His victory, small though it was, was short lived.

A second shot fired destroyed his thrusters completely, and a missile fired only a nanoklik later ate away at his nosecone-side in a blinding explosion, wrenching out of him a pitiful shriek that would have likely short-circuited weak audio preceptors. Out of reflex, his body transformed to his bipedal mood to engage his anti-gravity, only for him to find out that his equilibrium rectifier – an important component in his stabilizing system – was burnt along with parts of his nosecone. Even though his optics recognized which was sky and which was ground, his logic circuits became completely overwhelmed under confusing feedbacks, inducing dizziness such that he had not known since the day he was blown off course during his tragic expedition with Skyfire long, long ago. The ground rushed up terrifyingly quickly to meet him, not to mention the many-coloured spots of Autobots littering the area around his expected crash-site. Starscream hated to scream in the face of danger – it made him looked cowardly – but he could not get enough willpower to stop his vocalizer from spitting out the incoherent noises as his body plummeted to his possible deactivation.

Starscream rarely prayed, a creature of logic as he was (though less logic-oriented than Shockwave), but as he succumbed fully to the might of gravity, he _prayed _– that this was not the last astroseconds he knew life.

**XxXx**

Thundercracker and Skywarp reached the retreating party of Decepticons in no time, powered on by turbines whirring full-gear to catch up to them. Borne from years of practice, the two jets casually entered their 'bantering mode' as they blamed each other for their unlucky fights with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe – it was a routine Starscream developed for his trine to pretend hostility between them; though it was a common knowledge that trinemates were supposed to be intimate with each other, Starscream had theorized that it was better for them to appear not as friendly as they really were. Affection, after all, was a weakness only for Autobots to indulge in and Megatron despised any form of its display.

Megatron had no idea the depth of brotherly love the Seekers shared with each other that it was virtually impossible for Thundercracker and Skywarp to seem _not _to care when their trineleader sunk into depression.

"Thundercracker, Skywarp! Silence, you two, or I'll personally make sure of that!" Megatron snarled from his place at the head of the team, apparently annoyance of their loud bickering was getting to his nerve-bundles. The two jets fell quiet immediately, the only sounds coming from them being the high-pitched whines of their jet-engines, but a secret amusement was shared between those two via their private Seeker bond. Their acts were rather convincing if even Megatron could not stand them.

"Where is Starscream? He was supposed to join us by now!"

Their Sparks literally missed a pulse as realization dawned on them; Starscream shouldn't have taken this long to finish his business and Megatron's demand had just awakened them to their worst-case scenario.

"Well?" That tone demanded answer, and answer Skywarp did:

"He…he is providing cover to enable us to retreat."

"He has succeeded, then. So where _is _he?"

Apparently, Megatron had also reached the same theory as the two jet-formers because the warlord jerked to a sudden halt even as he whirled around to face Thundercracker and Skywarp, who were midway their transformations into bipedal modes. The whole party had also stopped by now, silence hung among them as if virus-ridden. Optics searched each other for confirmation but none answer the question held unspoken in their CPUs.

"Primus, NO!" Thundercracker whispered in dread as he wheeled around to direct his optics back to their previous battlefields – and saw a red dot in the sky falling, falling towards the groups of Autobots below, falling with no hope of regaining altitude.

"Starscream!" Skywarp shrieked – sounding incredibly like said jet in the process – and clutched his servos reflexively to Thundercracker who hovered at his side.

In the confusion, nobody realized the fear-struck expression gracing the contours of Megatron's faceplates – not even Megatron himself. His Spark lurched in time with Starscream's crash-landing. Out of instinctive drive, the Decepticon Commander activated the memory drive residing in dormancy in him and forced himself to connect with Starscream's meta-processors.

What greeted him was a myriad of sensations that he no longer had names enough to call them – predominantly was pain, and Primus it was overwhelming! It was felt in his backstrut, his helm, his neck-cables, his arms…everywhere. The distant jet's sensory preceptors registered feedbacks with decreasing quality to the warlord as Starscream's systems began to fail. The smell of energon blood was strong in his olfactory sensors; the bitterness of dirt lingered on his glossa, as if it was Megatron who had swallowed them during the landing. Most of disconcerting, though, was the grainy vision he was seeing through Starscream's cracked optics, and the obvious fear that came with it.

Autobots were everywhere, all around him as Starscream laid on his front, unable to move even a digit. A pair of blue legs moved into the frame and from their size alone, there was no mistaking of to whom they belonged.

A pair of royal-blue optics stared back when a masked face was lowered even as Starscream's visionary feedbacks flickered, faded, and blacked out completely.

"Starscream!"

The whole team turned towards Megatron, shocked as the harsh cry was forced out of Megatron's vocalizer even though he did not will it. The warlord could not understand the magnitude of fear his CPU generated when he realized that Starscream was at the mercy of Optimus Prime, nor could he handle such…alien…emotions.

"He is…lost…"

Primus did Megatron hoped he was wrong this time.


	2. Chapter 2

Optimus Prime might have millions of stellar cycles' worth of battle experiences, but that did not in any way thinned his mercy for individuals involved, be it Autobot or Decepticon. This in part was courtesy of the Matrix of Leadership residing in him, but it was also due to his nature as a compassionate mech. On the battlefield, he would fight with all the savagery at his disposal, inflicting damages as much as possible to his enemies, but when the battles subsided and the area was crowded with helpless victims, he would cast aside their differences and helped them in any way he could regardless of their allegiance.

A fool decision, others might say; a hopeless sentiment might be; but it was his principle, and without it, he was simply not Optimus Prime. He never thought that one orn he would hesitate to abide by the rules he created himself…when a particular Decepticon's fate was put into his own servo to be decided.

The battle at the power plant was a disappointment at some point – the Decepticons had managed to escape with the stolen energy – but all was not lost. After all, they had responded quickly to the emergency call the humans had made and succeeded to cut their energon-making activity short, which meant those Decepticons would be returning home with little enough energon cubes to keep the Autobots happy. Optimus was satisfied with the results, if not thoroughly relieved at Megatron's escape…until Sideswipe's yell of victory caught his attention, as well as the attentions of half a dozen of the Autobots present.

Out from the air, fell a sleek but badly damaged figure of a Seeker, with multi-coloured paintjobs that were rather flamboyant against the azure background of heavens. Smoke trailed behind him like streaks of dispersed black ink while the desperate sputters of its jet engine informed the Autobot leader of the flyer's damages. With a jolt, he realized that no other Seekers of Decepticon possessed such bold colourations, with red being the dominant broken here and there by blue and white paints. Optimus did not wait an astrosecond longer and dashed towards the crash-site of the jet, where a huge plump of dust was kicked up from the tremendous impact, along with his fellow Autobots.

Sideswipe was looking understandably smug as he towered over his victim and was already engaged in heated boasting of his success with his twin brother:

"Ha, you couldn't even bring down a Seeker! Look at what I've got – STARSCREAM!"

His yellow twin did not look very amused by this – Optimus was all too familiar with their little game of 'I'm Better Than You' that included everything and anything in their daily lives, from something as small as finishing their energon cubes as fast as they could to how many Decepticons they could hit in a single battle.

"It's a lucky shot – you and I know it!" Sunstreaker pouted; the sight of him made Optimus wondered for a brief nanoklik whether the yellow Lamborghini was really an Autobot soldier or a spoiled Tower mech.

Other Autobots had already grouped around the perimeter, forming a loose circle to avoid jostling one another even though each of them was just equally curious to see Sideswipe's trophy. The astrosecond they realized that their commander was among them, they parted themselves to create a path for Optimus to reach the Seeker lying at the centre. The Autobot's leader mercy was awakened the instant he beheld Starscream; had he did not know him, Optimus might as well said that he was purple with so much energon covering his slender chassis. The truck-former knelt before the wounded jet, careful not to get too near for Starscream's comfort – and the Seeker lifted his head ever so slightly to stare back. His Spark lurched with pity as he spotted the characteristic rhythmic brightening of fear that adorned the red optics before they dimmed completely. The helm fell back into the puddle of his energon as stasis lock claimed the Decepticon flyer.

Optimus stood up; he had in his servos a difficult decision to make. Starscream was one of the important members of Decepticon commanding officers, holding the rank of Air Commander and Second-In-Command at the same time. Optimus Prime had lived long enough already to get exhausted by this war – generations of leaders had come and gone, but the balance in the winning scale hardly tilted long enough to either side to decide the winner of this Cybertronian ages-long battle. Deactivating him permanently would have inflicted huge impacts on the Decepticon and they might have a real chance, for once, to overpower their enemies. It was a logical thing to do…but it was against everything Optimus had stood for for so long. Would he be willing to sacrifice his principles, for once, in the face of doing an act he would have normally despised for 'the greater good'?

Could he bear the guilt of a one-time decision for the rest of his life?

"Ah say we end his misery," growled a deep voice from behind Optimus, accompanied simultaneously by the whirs of Ironhide's Pulse Cannon getting ready to unleash its powerful blast.

What possessed Optimus in that time, even the semi himself could not answer, but something clicked deep within his Spark as he made his final decision and extended an arm in gesture of denial. "No, Ironhide."

"No?" Ironhide questioned, a word that echoed throughout the Autobot army.

"No," the red-and-blue truck repeated, more firmly than he had previously done. Primus, to announce his decision was far more difficult than he initially thought. "We'll take him as our war prisoner."

The next thing that happened was an absolute verbal chaos; Ironhide shouted how crazy Optimus's call was, while Sideswipe and Sunstreaker joined forces to go as far as offering Optimus to terminate Starscream himself if the leader did not have the Spark for it. Bluestreak looked almost panicky at the thought of bringing back an enemy to the Ark and Jazz, always trying to find the reasoning behind every decision made by his leader, said that the Autobot Commander should have thought about this more carefully. The only mechs that seemed to refuse to voice out their opinions were Prowl and Ratchet, though the medic's expression clearly said _you should have your logic circuits replaced instantly_.

The Prime lifted a servo and silence fell among the Autobots immediately. His vents cycled out a heavy sigh before he replied, "Autobots, I am aware of the risk involved by bringing a Decepticon to our base, but he is now wounded to the point he will be of no serious threat to us."

"Except to threaten our audios with his screech," Bluestreak mumbled, intending only to soliloquize with himself but ending up saying them loud enough for every mech there to hear. At his side, Jazz attempted no pretenses at snickering, a reaction which proved infectious. Soon, laughter echoed in the area as if they had just finished partying instead of fighting.

"That's enough all of you," Optimus Prime said although the ghost of a smile lingered on his hidden lip components, "I'll say we bring him back. Who knows, maybe we can obtain vital information from him in the process…"

This was greeted with collective agreement by the soldiers, however reluctant some of them looked though. The doubts would have to do for now – Optimus could not expect them all to be happy with his call, but at least they would consent it.

"Prowl? Any thought on this matter?" As the Autobot Second-In-Command, it would be fair to give room for the Datsun to say what he had in his processors – and Primus knew just how very efficient his processors were!

"The logical thing to do will be, of course to terminate Starscream. However, you seem sure with yourself…then I'll say we should admit him to the med-bay under tight security for repairs. If left to heal on his own, Starscream will cease functioning in –"

"– two orns, at most. His physical is overall in good shape, but the main fuel line has ruptured – which is why there's so much energon shed," Ratchet added helpfully; no matter how versatile or knowledgeable Prowl was, no one could beat Ratchet when it came to medical concerns. In fact, no one was allowed to boast your knowledge about repairing – except perhaps for Wheeljack – in front of the CMO if you didn't want a wrench thrown at you.

"That makes it all the more important to bring Starscream with us. Ratchet, if you please," Optimus gestured. Ratchet obeyed without further ado and transformed into his alt-form ambulance. It was somewhat clear that no one was willing enough to touch the already-offline Starscream so Optimus bent down to lift him into his arms and brought the Seeker into the ambulance's opened back space. It saddened the Autobot leader that his soldiers should festered so much hatred towards their enemies even when they were so helplessly damaged.

"Autobots; transform and return to base," he commanded while he altered his physical into a white-grilled red semi. The infamous container – housing his two other inferior components inside – was sub-spaced out as he finished his transformation. The others, obeying his order, did so as well, changing into their respective vehicular modes and went into formation behind their leader as the team headed back to the Ark.

**XxXx**

"This is bad," Ratchet mumbled – and by 'mumble', by the medic's standard, it meant every mech within 10 Cybertronian metres from him would be able to hear exactly what the Autobot said.

Optimus Prime, who had been patiently waiting for the medic's verdict on Starscream's condition, looked up in interest. "What is it?"

Optimus had summoned Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide and Red Alert to assemble in the med-bay exclusively for a last-klik meeting about Starscream's fate in the Ark while Ratchet worked on the injured Seeker to do what he did best. While others have questioned his decisions, imploring the Prime repeatedly with similar doubts whenever any of the Autobot passed him prior to this meeting, Prowl and Jazz displayed trust in the Matrix-Bearer's judgment no matter how out-of-logic-circuits it sounded – they had worked together for so long that the faiths they had sown in one another were Cybertanium-hard – and for that, Optimus couldn't have been more thankful. Ironhide was of similar case, though he might look even less displeased by the circumstances. Still, he accepted the Prime's reasoning with a reasonably little confrontation. The same could not be said to Red Alert – having been informed of a Decepticon in their midst by the semi once the Autobots reached their headquarter-turned spaceship, his expected paranoia-born glitch resurfaced and it caused him to almost short-circuited after running around the med-bay as if on fire. It was lucky that they had such a capable Chief Medical Officer in their midst or they would have a tough time trying to re-boot the Security Director's processors again and again. Rather than angry, the Lamborghini looked as if he was under viral influence – so sickly his appearances were – when he was calm enough to process the situations, though he, like the others, had agreed to give Starscream a refuge in the Ark.

"Starscream's chassis – Primus!" Ratchet cycled a heavy intake once, a red servo rubbing the side of his helm in a manner the Prime knew from past experiences to indicate worry. "I think – I think I need Skyfire's help in this. Look here; there's weld lines all over the place! It's like as if he was dismantled and put back together every few orns or so."

By this time, Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide and even Red Alert were leaning down themselves to look where the Autobot CMO had pointed – true enough, the tell-tale signs of repair were everywhere on the Seeker's frame where it was not damaged by impacts during his emergency landing, but his mid-section looked the worst. A particular gash near his cockpit's end gaped open, revealing sensitive internals which sparked and crackled with electricity; The welding was so recently done that the metals had not enough time to fuse firmly together.

"That may have been exactly the case – looking that Megatron does not sit well with treachery…" Optimus vented out a barely audible sigh. His race, the Transformer, was granted with hardiness that most organics would have envied, being able to live through the worst of injuries as long as their Sparks remained intact and having enough energy to sustain their vital functions. This was an advantage in battles, but it would also subject them to a very terrifying circumstance – A Cybertronian could be tortured so heavily for vorns by their enemies should he be captured but would still remain online by merely keeping their Sparks undamaged. It would have been a life worst even than a mere deactivation.

"Why Skyfire?" Prowl asked.

"Because he would've known more about Starscream's anatomy more than I do – don't get me wrong, I know enough of a Seeker's chassis to perform repairs, but our flyer here needs some make-ups that only another flyer can confirm whether I'm doing it right or wrong." Ratchet didn't even look up from the prone figure lying on his operation berth as he threw his favourite wrench at Jazz, who was struggling to stifle a _yeah, right _smirk from showing on his faceplates.

"Hey, chill out, man!" the Porsche mocked a terrified whimper as he ducked just in time to avoid the object. The whole med-bay erupted into a brief laughter at the momentary lapse in seriousness, even the ever stoic Prowl. Optimus Prime allowed a smile to form, even though others could not see it.

"Well, Skyfire it is," The truck said once the level of noise subsided enough for him to be heard without having to shout. "I will inform him once he is back from his mission."

"What mission?" Ironhide's optic ridge arched up as he said this – he hated to miss any opportunity to bash out some Decepticons' heads even though he had just finished doing just that.

"Nothin' fer ya' te worry 'bout, man! Just some little headin'-te-space thing to repair the human's satellite," Jazz's voice carried a tinge of amusement still when he said this, but the explanation was enough to prevent Ironhide from throwing his rage at the possibility of being left out.

"Oh."

"I think we are done here –"

" – wait, Prime! What happens when Starscream has been fixed? What should we do to him?"

_Good old Prowl_, Optimus thought in silence. Truthfully, the semi had not ventured his mind further beyond repairing Starscream. Prowl's processors, though, were working almost 24-7 with little rests, enabling him to spot troubles long before they come.

"What do you suggest?"

"I think we better leave him in the med-bay until his self-repair system can take care of himself, and then we will lock him in the brig. Injured or no, he is still an enemy, and a possible threat."

"Agreed. Thanks, Prowl. Now, if we are all done here…," Optimus paused for an astrsecond, giving room for his soldiers to speak up their mind, if they wish so. When he was met instead with silence, he continued, "…Right; Autobots, dismiss."

Red Alert almost sagged against Jazz at the declaration – apparently, proximity to a Decepticon in an Autobot stronghold was affecting him more greatly than Optimus had initially thought. Oh, Red Alert was no coward – he would gladly drive into a full-blown battle if needed to, but considering that the Ark was supposed to be Decepticon-free, a responsibility that fell on his shoulder-plates as the Security Director, having Starscream in here must have been like a nightmare to him. The Porsche grabbed his arm and led him out of the place, Ironhide and Prowl following closely after them.

Optimus would have left too if not for Ratchet's subtle _hem-hem_; anybody else wouldn't have noticed it, except perhaps Ironhide or Prowl, but Optimus stopped as if someone was shouting at him. Vorns of working with the medic had taught him many of the white mech's ways – like the faked small cough which actually meant _wait, we have something to talk_.

The red truck whirled around and approached the CMO, dragging a spare chair with him to sit on at the medic's side. "Something bothering you, Ratchet?"

Ratchet was hardly looking up from his patient when he replied, "I really don't know what's going through your processors, Optimus. Truthfully, I'll side with Ironhide. This is Starscream, if you don't realize it, and the 'Cons will lose a huge advantage if we eliminate their SIC."

"I do not need telling of his identity, Ratchet. I've been in too many battles to _not _realize that this is Starscream. I know what he's capable of…but I can't help feeling that to simply deactivate him permanently will be morally wrong. We are not Decepticons."

"Primus, we are in a war, Optimus! I understand that you have the drive to feel compassion to everyone and everybody, and most of the time I don't mind it, but Starscream? He is no better than Megatron – maybe worse!"

At this point, Ratchet had abandoned any attempt of remaining calm and straightened up; the screw-driver he used to fix Starscream only a nanoklik before clanked loudly as it hit the metal surface of the operation berth, the hand which had been holding him had released it to be shifted onto the red hip-plating.

Optimus sighed – Ratchet was a good mech, but he was rather grumpy to be dealt with easily. Softly, he said, "I know, Ratchet. But no one is programmed to be readily evil – not even Megatron. I believe Starscream is somewhat…salvageable mentally. Besides, he's hurt – you've said so. We never leave anyone to rust on the battlefield. I am no fool, Ratchet – I fight when I have to, even to deactivation – but there is no honour in terminating a helpless enemy."

Ratchet's '+'-stamped shoulders slumped a little while his vents gulped in cool air to cool his internals. An awkward silence fell between them for an astrosecond but was quickly banished by the medic.

"I pray with all my Spark that you are right, Optimus. If otherwise…we are likely to lose this war. I'm only concerned with the fate of Autobots, of the humans…of Cybertron."

The Prime struggled with his inner desire to smile – Ratchet might not have said it, but the wordings and his tone clearly indicated regret and an unspoken apology to his previous outburst. By the little smile the CMO offered after that, Ratchet signaled his leader that he too had noted that Optimus had accepted his apology.

"I'm similarly concerned, Ratchet, but I've made up my mind and there's nothing else to do than hope for the best."

"And repair this patient you've gotten me," the medic chuckled. He was already bent down over Starscream's unmoving figure and re-started working on the Seeker's wounds.

"So, I guess this is the part where you yell at me to get out of your way so you can work in peace?" Optimus could barely suppress his chuckles from erupting into a booming laughter.

"Well, yes – _Get out of my way; I've a mech to fix here!_"

Optimus was truly laughing now as he backed away from the busy medic to leave. His heavy pede-steps echoed around the med-bay as he did, right until the door closed with a hiss and he found himself standing alone in the deserted hallway of the Ark. There was no window here, but the uniform orange the whole surfaces were painted with made it looked as if the spaceship's insides were bathed in the glow of dusk sunlight.

Now that he was alone and having finished the day's works, Optimus noticed just how tired he was. Joints creaked whenever he moved them and his spinal-strut was uncomfortably stiff. Craning his neck-joints, a resounding but very satisfying _crack_ came from his neck-cables adjusting back to their original positions. He was about to walk back to his quarters when exceptionally loud whirs of turbines reached his audios.

There was only one mech in the whole Autobot army capable of generating such powerful-sounding noises that his engine's rumbles could be heard well even from inside the Ark – Skyfire. A moment's puzzlement snatched the Prime's attention; the shuttle had returned quite early for Optimus had been informed earlier that he was scheduled to return by tomorrow morning. _Probably the satellite's damages aren't so serious_, he thought as he made his way to the Ark's main entrance.

Skyfire's huge frame blocked Optimus's view of the outside world completely from inside when he landed just outside the Autobot base's entrance, as huge as he was. Perhaps his size shouldn't have come as a surprise, looking at the fact that he had retained a Cybertronian shuttle as his alt-mode. Even Optimus Prime, considered a big Transformer himself, stood up only to the lower edge of Skyfire's chest-piece in his robot form. This made him a rather convenient transportation for the Autobots if there were Decepticon-caused troubles at places where it was simply too far for them to 'roll out' on their wheels. Besides, a shuttle was supposed to be fast and Skyfire was one of the fastest flyers the Autobot Commander had ever seen, capable of travelling at almost the same velocity a Cybertronian tetra-jet could reach.

Speaking of tetra-jet…he should inform the shuttle-former of Starscream's presence in the Ark as soon as possible.

While Optimus Prime made to approach the huge Autobot flyer, Wheeljack was rolling out of Skyfire's cargo-bay, Perceptor trailing behind him in his bipedal form – the scientist was a microscope in his alt-mode, and even though mobility was still possible, it was neither fast nor convenient. The shuttle waited patiently as he emptied his belly of his passengers before transforming back into his other form; Huge servos unfolded from his sides even as the tapered nosecone was flipped so that it vertically rested over the mech's front; White legs appeared where his thrusters were only a few astroseconds ago; the twin fuel-tanks rose behind his back, prominently red in the midst of dominant white paintjobs; his head appeared last, rising out between his shoulder plating to reveal a calm, calculating face that hid the shuttle's courage which was shown only when called for.

"The repairs went well enough, don't you think?" Wheeljack asked, his head-fins flashing rhythmically with every word he spoke; he was in his robot form by now.

"Hmm…I still say it will be better if we replace the titanium-alloy with Cybertanium. It will prolong the satellite's life-time over 40% its current expected life expectancy, besides having to –"

" – Perceptor, we do what we are asked. They said 'repair', not 'modify'. Although I have to agree with your suggestion with that Cybertanium, or maybe we can use Adamantium instead, but it'll be harder to find that metal in this part of galaxy…anyway, thanks for the lift, Skyfire," Wheeljack stopped his rant from evolving into a full-blown nerdy babbles to give their shuttle friend a thumbs-up, a gesture he had picked up from their human allies, the Witwickys. After all, he spent most of his time with the human engineers when not in battles, especially with the father, Sparkplug, since the human coincidentally shared Wheeljack's passion in inventing.

"My pleasure, friends," Skyfire smiled; he always did. Perhaps that was why he got along well with the rest of the Autobots so quickly despite his Decepticon-tainted past and his terrifying size.

The trio was turning to enter the Autobot base when they simultaneously caught sight of their leader's stunning white-red-blue paintjobs standing out from the orange background of the Ark's walls.

"You return earlier than expected," Optimus pointed out lightly; his tone was neither angry nor accusing, just genuinely curious.

"Ah, the humans fretted too much about the satellite's peeled outer skin – It's nothing," Wheeljack explained as he approached the truck-former. "So, is there anything that we can help?"

Optimus Prime unfolded his arms and shifted his pedes to stand in a more stable posture – it might not have meant much to mechs who did not know him, but Wheeljack had long learnt that these particular body languages meant that the leader was having a hard time to explain whatever it was that ran around in his processors.

"We have a…delicate situation here. I think we better discuss it in a more relaxed atmosphere. Maybe in the common room?"

Even the conservative Perceptor arched an optic ridge at that – Optimus was rarely so tentative when the time came to spill the beans, no matter what kind of beans he was about to spill. Still, it was always wise to hear what their leader had to say, be it good or bad news. The three of them gave their agreement without a fuss, all the while wondering what it was exactly that had Optimus Prime's wires coiled up so tightly as they headed for the said room.

**XXXXX**

Optimus had never seen such extreme expressions on the faceplates of his Autobot scientists for they were usually so immersed in their respective subjects that it was rare for them to display emotions outwardly. Perceptor and Wheeljack looked downright shocked when he was informed of Starscream's presence, while Skyfire…he couldn't quite put his digit on the shuttle's reactions. There was surprise, of course, nothing unexpected there, but his faceplates were a mess of a whole lot of other undefined feelings. Was it anger that caused the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth? Was it pain that made the light in his optics dimmed a notch? Optimus couldn't tell for sure, not even with his high empathy which was induced by the Matrix of Leadership he was possessing.

"Why, Optimus? Why salvage him when we will gain so much more by…well, you know…" The flashes of Wheeljack's head-fins were a little brighter than they usually were – a sure sign of him being fidgety.

For perhaps the hundredth time already for the day, Optimus Prime replied to the Autobot inventor with the same answers he had been telling Prowl, Ratchet, Jazz, Red Alert, Brawn, Bumblebee and dozens of other Autobots who had voiced similar concerns, adding, "But you don't have to actively take part in his repairs. Ratchet so far requested only for Skyfire's aid, since he was not very accustomed to a tetra-jet-based Seeker. What do you say, Skyfire?"

It seemed as if the shuttle had been wandering aimlessly in processor-drift and was just only pulled out of it by the call of his name. "Wha – Ah, I…I'll help as much as I can, Prime."

Never in Optimus's memory banks had he seen Skyfire became unfocused – if he was, something must be amiss. "What is it? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing of serious concern. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need a full, proper recharge after that trip to the orbit."

"As you wish, Skyfire. When you are able, meet Ratchet in the med-bay. I'm sure he'll be in there for quite a time."

"I will," was the shuttle's short reply, which was another thing strange about him this orn. He always answered with complete sentence, _I will do as suggested, _not _I will_. It was just not his style.

The shuttle rose and left immediately, unaware of three pairs of optics following his steps with worried interests.

Wheeljack whispered once he was sure that the huge mech was out of audio range. "What's with Skyfire?"

Perceptor merely shook his helm, but Optimus answered, "Your guess is as good as mine, Wheeljack."

Optimus Prime watched with concern as Skyfire's white form vanished when he turned round a corner, probably to his living quarters. Something was clearly bothering his friend but it was obvious that Skyfire was still unwilling to indulge his mind to others. The Prime had long learned that sometimes mech couldn't be rushed – it was better if he allowed them a little time to themselves and took it on their own terms. Skyfire was no different.

His pede-steps echoed loudly in the deserted hallways but Skyfire's audios did not seem to detect it with his processors tuned inwardly. Optimus Prime's news was something that should not have bothered him, yet he was. The lost friendship he had once forged with Starscream was a secret unknown to the Autobots. Cliffjumper, Ratchet, Ironhide and Hound had once heard Starscream mentioning something about 'old friendship' when Skyfire was ordered to terminate them when he was still a Decepticon. They had asked him what Starscream had meant by it – Skyfire, still not having any Spark to reveal his relationship with the now Decepticon SIC, had casually deflected their curiousities by saying, "It was Starscream's way of being sarcastic." He did not really expect them to believe his self-appointed lame explanation, but apparently they did.

Perhaps they were unwilling to literally translate Starscream's words, or perhaps they could not grasp the idea of him befriending the once tetra-jet…

It was an exhausting thought. He might have pretended like there was nothing going on, but subsequent encounters with Starscream on battlefields were something he dreaded, but met they did, on a few occasions of which none was pleasant for recollection. Sure, he was damaged in the resulting battles, but it was not that which had affected so. He hid his emotional hurt; he could not tell the others not just because he might be shunned out by them because of it, but it was also because he could not bear to put his burden into others' processors. Besides, this was a war and in wars, personal affairs were as meaningless as titanium moose-bots wandering the barren steppe back on Cybertron.

Skyfire ran an internal diagnosis and discovered that he needed to refuel and recharge soon – he had flown off to catch the wandering satellite with only half-full energon – but he still could spare a few breems before doing so. With that in mind, the shuttle changed his original plan to return to his quarters and headed off to the public wash-room. His own cooling systems should be able to handle the overheating circuits he got from the strains of the journeys, but the thoughts of having refreshingly cool liquid caressing his chassis was rather appealing. Moreover, he was dirty; space dust and debris clung to his frame and wedged themselves in slits his huge digits could not reach, and the smell of burning metal lingered on his armors as well for he was literally on fire every time he travelled through the Earth's upper atmospheres. The heat was of no concern, of course, but the smoke and scents it produced bothered him.

When he reached the orange-tiled room, Skyfire was glad that he would have no company this time. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were about to leave, offering an amiable "Hey there, big guy!" as they passed him, of which he returned with an acknowledgement nod.

The Ark's wash-room had decent-sized cubicles for its occupants' usages – that was, decent-sized for normal-sized bots. Skyfire was a little too large, so the cubicles came as a just-enough fit for the shuttle. This came as no disappointment to him; in fact, he even had his self-dubbed favourite washing cubicle; it was one at the furthest corner of the wash-room. He still could not exactly figured out why this one among tens of others. He guessed with unscientific-like randomness because it was the most secluded, other than mechs didn't usually pick it because it was the furthest, which meant the longest walking distance; He wouldn't know for sure. Nevertheless, it was his favourite no matter what others' opinions of it, and it was that cubicle he entered. Adjusting the shower to lukewarm setting, he turned it on and savoured the drops of water raining down from above as if they were life-giving.

"Sunstreaker's special wax," the shuttle muttered when he found a nearly empty bottle lying at his pedes, picked it up and examined the contents. He was tempted for a while to use a portion of it for a little self-pampering but thought better of it; a 'portion' would likely meant 'all' when it came to mechs his size. After all, naturally programmed in him was what Sparkplug once mentioned as 'gentlemanly manners'; it was rude for him to take something without asking first. Thus, he contented himself with plain warm water and his own servos. His wings fluttered slightly at the quiet joy he was receiving as hands roamed all over his chassis, peeling off dirt and brushing obstinate dust as he went.

It was quiet in here, the sounds being the soft spatters of water hitting the floor and his chassis. Quietness equaled calmness for Skyfire long ago – it allowed his CPU uninterrupted kliks for the shuttle to satiate his buzzing scientific mind. Now, though, quietness came with a new definition, because it meant times to remember memories he was not sure he wanted to replay…

**XxXx**

"_Are you happier being a warrior than a scientist, Starscream?"_

"_Yes, it is far more exciting and one day, I, not Megatron, will lead us and then you will be my Second-In-Command!"_

"_I…am grateful for you freeing me from my tomb of ice. I shall try to bring you credit."_

**XxXx**

"_I promised these Earth-creatures no harm will come to them. This is wrong."_

"_Who are you to offer safety to our enemies, Skyfire?"_

"_Enemies? But they are…they're my friends!"_

"_Do not interfere!"_

"_I don't understand…"_

"_The puny flesh-creatures are insignificant! Once they cease being useful to us, they will be terminated!"_

"_My function is to further science; learning, not to destroy innocent life-forms…" _

**XxXx**

"_Those years under the ice diminish your loyalty coefficient, Skyfire. But because of our old friendship, I shall be generous; you may have the pleasure of melting down these Autobots."_

"_But…I'm a scientist, not an executioner!"_

"_I am your superior! I order you to terminate them!"_

"_No, I will not! They have done no wrong!"_

"_But _you _have, traitor!"_

**XxXx**

"_You're through, Skyfire!"_

"_You forget, Starscream; I can transform too! Time to even the score, _friend_!"_

"_Where are you traitor? Show yourself!"_

"_Here I am!"_

"_You shall pay for your treachery!" _

**XxXx**

Skyfire did not realize when did his servos stopped picking out impurities on his chassis and instead went up to bury his face in their palms. He also had no way of discerning whether the warmth his faceplates were registering came from the shower-water or from something else. Skyfire in his sparklinghood was not displeasing; he had caring creators who supported his passion for sciences with whole Sparks. He had unnerving concentrations to complete his sharp CPU, after all. There was nothing shameful about not being interested in the glory of battlefields, they had said, but apparently his colleagues had different opinions on these.

"_Sciences? What good there is in it?"_

"_Shame that build of yours not put to good use."_

"_You would've done so much more if you just leave your lab."_

Hearing such questions asked to him became his daily must-to-do. Yet, science was all he was interested in; science was his life. Because of it, he ignored the words of his supposed-to-be-friends and pursued what he loved most. In the end, he was left with no friends, no comrades, no acquaintances…until he met Starscream.

The young tetra-jet was also an outcast in their societies, only Starscream was much worse…he was disowned by his own family. The hurt he had seen in Starscream moved Skyfire and Starscream was eager to accept any shred of friendliness offered at joors like these. They were mutually delighted to discover that they shared the same interests, though Starscream was more inclined to inventing and exploding stuffs while Skyfire loved exploration and educational trips. They found their true selves in each other and all was as it should be…

…until that fateful exploration to the young yet-to-be-named planet that one orn would be known to them as Earth.

It didn't only separate these two flyers physically, through time and space, but it was also the point in which their lives took on diverging routes. When he was re-awakened from stasis lock four-plus-something billion Earth years later, he somehow knew that Starscream's faction was not meant to him.

And they were enemies since then till this very astrosecond…

Skyfire spent a few more breems in the cubicle before he deemed he was satisfactorily clean by his standards. By the time he was finished, his white paintjobs almost gleamed from the reflections cast off by the Ark's in-built lighting systems, and it was without the wax. He amused himself how he would have looked if it did while he wiped off the lingering water-drops with the cloth put specifically in there for drying one's chassis.

The refuel hall was not very far from his quarters, and for that, he was grateful. The shuttle found himself already exhausted by the time he reached the Autobot equivalent of the Nemesis's mess hall. Several pairs of blue optics looked up from their energon cubes when he entered – he was always noticed upon arrival because of his size, even if his quietness did nothing to fish their attentions. The Autobots, as was their usual, waved at him and greeted him with friendliness he could not find anywhere in the Decepticons, even in Starscream. He replied to each of them just as amicably, declining requests to sit with them and refuel together with all the politeness his tiredness permitted.

"I will only be here for a while. I badly need to catch my recharge," he said, and they all accepted his reasons without much fusses. True to his words, Skyfire drank in three cubes of energon quickly, though not greedily (no one knew how Skyfire could refuel so fast and yet retained his table manners), and left the place.

When Skyfire reached his quarters, he wasted not a klik to lie down on his berth. With his condition, it was not surprising that he went into recharge almost instantaneously.

_I wonder how Starscream will react when he sees me, _Skyfire's CPU managed to process one last time before comfortable darkness warped him as his systems went offline, preparing Skyfire for what was to come tomorrow.

**XXXXX**

The underwater headquarter of the Decepticon forces, Nemesis, looked today just as it did any other day since its sinking to the bottom of Atlantic; it was a place fit to be described as haunted had the onlookers did not know what the huge spaceship housed within it. It was a formidable place, almost impenetrable by those who did not belong to pass its many doors…and yet, if anybody with supreme infiltration skills _did _manage to enter it, he would have noticed that something was not quite right in here. The Nemesis lacked a few of its characteristic phenomenon this orn; for one, there was no mech complaining of being spooked by Skywarp's crazy warping – which he did for the sake of the pure fun of it. Megatron, which was usually seen roaming the dark hallways to check on his troops, was also nowhere public to be seen. Another thing noticeable was the absence of a rather annoying cliché of _I shall rule the Decepticons, not Megatron_, voiced in a screechy tone that was all too familiar to Nemesis's residents.

Thundercracker had stayed awake all through the dark hours in Skywarp's chamber without an astrosecond's worth of recharge. The Seeker was exhausted, but he had not the Spark to leave his trinemate just like that and returned to his own place. Many times had he tried to get some rest but his processors were far too muddled with activities to entered recharge-induced standby-mode. Thus, he contented himself to sit cross-legged at the edge of Skywarp's berth, watching with hidden worry at the purple jet-former as he laid in recharge, looking peaceful for all its outer appearances showed. Thundercracker knew better, though.

The moment Skywarp saw Starscream being shot down by the Autobots last orn, it was like he was being seized by a fits or something. Thundercracker had had a tough time trying to calm him down before for he looked unnervingly close to CPU-crash. Among the Decepticons, Skywarp had been hit the hardest by this loss. This was of no special surprise, given the fact that they were a trine, but the sudden loss was just too much for his youth to handle. Sure, Starscream was the youngest among them three, but Skywarp, though being the middle in the trine, had no experiences beforehand to prepare him for a trauma of this magnitude. In front of the others, Skywarp had let coolant tears poured out of his optic ducts shamelessly all through their return journey to Nemesis. In any normal circumstance, Megatron would have back-handed him for such emotional reactions, but apparently, something was bothering the warlord that he too was reduced to silence.

In some ways, Thundercracker was secretly in anger that Megatron had decided to retreat rather than return to the battles to save Starscream, but he thought later, when his anger had subsided enough to allow for unclouded reasoning, that it was maybe a wise decision; with each of the Decepticons being low on energy, to Megatron it was a risk not worth taking. Even with the reluctant understanding, he still wondered if there was any way in which he could help Starscream, though he was quite sure that there was none. He longed to get some news about him – any news at all – but he was unable to. The Seeker connection they shared among them would be reduced to uselessness in the concerns of communication due to the distance separating them, though he still could sense, more or less, the energy signature heralding the presence of still-living Spark at Starscream's side of the bond. At least, that was some assurance, no matter how little it was.

A slight stir at his side made Thundercracker's head turned. To his relief, Skywarp was not coming out of his recharge just yet. If he did, it would be a tad too early since his last activity scan registered 37% running functions above normal, which was a sign of overworked systems. Thundercracker had had the mind to fetch a couple of energon cubes while Skywarp was deep in recharge, to be handed to him when he woke up later. The purple Seeker would be too low in energy to walk then that Thundercracker doubted he could even walk the short distance to the mess hall. Sighing out a rush of air through his shoulder vents, the blue-and-white jet-former leaned down slightly to place his servo on Skywarp's hood, just below the front edge of his dark helm. It was a gesture of consolation that Thundercracker felt compelled of him even though his trinemate could not exactly feel it while in recharge. He might not be able to offer comfort to Starscream, but at least he would do all everything within his ability range to Skywarp in compensation…

**XxXx**

Soundwave stood ramrod-straight, the only way of standing he knew, in the Nemesis's Command Centre while he waited for the return of one of his Casetticons from its patrol duty. The area was deserted save by himself and Ramjet, who happened to be on monitor duty at this moment. The communication officer made no attempts at all at starting a conversation with the Conehead, who appeared to be so bored he looked almost ready to be deactivated if this continued a klik longer. Already the jet was slumped in his seat in an uncomfortable-looking fashion with his wings got caught by the armrests. That apparently did not stop him from getting drowsy, as the huge yawn he gave indicated.

Laserbeak's screech coming out from the speakers installed on the control panel announced his arrival as well as his request for the surfacing of the landing tower. Ramjet nearly fell out of his chair in surprise, hissing in discomfort as his wings were somehow twisted a little at the edge from his movements.

"Request granted," Soundwave heard the jet groaned, followed by an almost inaudible _beep _as a particular button was pushed. The thunderous rumbles of the landing tower pushing through the water resonated through the walls of Nemesis, broken by a soft splashing as it broke the surface. A moment's pause, and the same noises the tower made on the way up were repeated as it retracted back into its place, carrying along Laserbeak in it.

With the return of his bird-cassette, there was no need any more for Soundwave to remain in the Command Centre so he exited the place. He uttered not a word to declare his departure to the Conehead, who was beginning to grow just as drowsy as he did before Laserbeak called in; the usual procedure required Laserbeak to fill in reports of his patrol, but the Cassette had been comm. linking with his master along his return journey and had had Soundwave helped filled the details even before his arrival. It was a small enough help compared to what his cassette-minions did in his stead every time he went on a mission.

Laserbeak's squawking as it flew out of the turbo-lift was unintelligible to most other Decepticons except Megatron himself, but its meaning was clear enough to Soundwave who waited just outside. His CPU interpreted each rise and dip in Laserbeak's tone perfectly and all indicated how glad the Casetticon was to be back. Soundwave offered no verbal reply in return as he knew full well that Laserbeak was aware of their mutual gladness. Wordlessly he pushed on the button on his shoulder and his cavity chest was opened, in which the cassette-transformed bird-bot soared into, fitting within it so effortlessly that no scraping sound was heard as he did. No doubt Laserbeak would have likely fell into recharge the instant he was safe within Soundwave out of exhaustion.

Now that Starscream was not around, Soundwave had been promoted as the Decepticon SIC – or at least, the deputy-in-charge until the Seeker was back and functional again. Many had speculated that the office would remain to be held by Soundwave since they thought that Megatron had no intention to recover Starscream from the Autobots; the communication officer did not quite agree on that. Even after all the trials at insubordination, the fact remained that Starscream had performed his duties with unsurpassed efficiency as long as he held the title. It was doubtful that the Decepticon Supreme Commander would let such capable mech in the servo of his enemies for long. Megatron was far too possessive to give up on his Seeker. Besides…

Soundwave's self-made rule that _no spying Megatron's thoughts without permission_ was not applicable recently. His telepathy had picked up strange emotions from the leader whenever they were in close proximity, feelings which were so raw and unyielding that the Communication Expert did not even need to strain his mind to detect them. Of course, sometimes he could sense Megatron's general mental pattern when the dictator was experiencing extreme emotions, but never in clarity as sharp as these. Still, what Soundwave conceived were so muddled up that there was no possible mean to discern one thought from the other; they were mingled and continuous, each one connected in one way or another to the last. This baffled him since no mind he had ever delved into had natures like Megatron's.

Perhaps that was why Megatron was so unpredictable in his actions…

::Megatron to Soundwave. ::

Soundwave was apparently too deep in processors-drift that the stoic mech was unbelievably caught by surprise at the call, something which was almost impossible to happen to a mech like him.

::Soundwave responding. Proceed.::

::Come to my quarters at once.::

::As you command, Lord Megatron.::

The connection was cut off from Megatron's side without even a little closure. Soundwave found it to be a bit peculiar but did not dwell long on it. It was not his place to judge when he was not ordered to, only to follow given commands.

And follow he would do.

**XxXx**

The windows in Megatron's quarters are situated so that they overlooked the vast expanse of space as Nemesis cruises the cosmos like it is supposed to. Now though, stranded here, they revealed instead the views of the murky depth of Atlantic ocean. They were of no use now if one wanted to see the sky or to spy the Autobots, but they did offer views of many of marine organics living here.

With his servos locked together behind him and optics gazing at the sceneries beyond the glass of his windows, Megatron had all the outer appearances of someone deep in thoughts. A couple of sharks came into view when they tussled with one another to claim their shares on a battered remains of a tuna but the Decepticon leader was in fact did not follow their struggles. Blood oozed out from their open wounds, bright red against blue-black surrounding – the contrast was somehow stunning enough to pull back Megatron's meta-processors to focus on the reality that was around him. Out of pure instinct, he extended a servo to trace along the blood streaks that got smeared on the glass with his digits with dreamy attention.

"Yes…it has always been like that, isn't it?" His hoarse voice rumbled low, but the silence enveloping his quarters made it sounded several magnitude louder than it actually was. Everything he said was babble to other mechs if he happened to be heard, but to Megatron it made perfect sense; the power struggle, the teetering balance, the bloody results the fight caused…

Whatever visual monologue the processors-drift pulled out of Megatron's memory banks, it was cut short by the _beep _announcing Soudwave's presence just beyond the door, followed by said mech's voice identifying himself.

Megatron voiced his permission for Soundwave to come inside without having to move anywhere or push any button since his quarters' intercom was directly linked to his communication systems. At once, the visored mech stepped inside when the door was opened for his entry. The leader knew this without even turning to face the newcomer, the hiss of opening door and the clanking pede-steps telling him the details almost as well as visual feedbacks would.

Only after a few kliks of total silence did Megatron turned on one pede to look at Soundwave directly, optic-to-visor. It was impossible to tell what the communication officer was feeling or thinking; it was as if he was created without emotions, or at least he had no programming to display them. Megatron, on the other servo, was a rather expressive mech; coupled that with his refusal to hide his emotions in Soundwave's presence, each and every feeling that crossed his CPU was visible in the creases and bends on his faceplates, in the dimming of his optics, in the way his lip components twitched at the corners.

"So, Soundwave; tell me…I have experienced…malfunctions with the memory drive. What could have been the problem with it?" There was no note of awkwardness in Megatron's way of speaking; he was conditioned to such emotionless displays when he became the lord of the Decepticons. He could not afford to sound unconfident when he was their tyrannical leader but the slight pause and lowered tone were indications enough of his discomfort.

"Clarification: Required," was the reply given.

Megatron's vents whirred as he cycled out a heavy sigh; as telepathic as Soundwave was, apparently the Communication Expert had not breached his limits and invaded Megatron's CPU. Thus, finer details were always needed whenever he ordered the mech to answer questions that were asked to him. In some ways it was a relief, knowing that his thoughts remained as private from others, but right now Megatron was not really in the mood for talking.

Trying hard in restraining his grumpiness from showing and failing miserably at it, the Decepticon overlord spoke:

"Ever since we returned from the raid, I have tried to connect to Starscream's meta-processors with this memory drive you've invented...and yet, I received nothing in return. No statics, no feelings, nothing. Why is that?"

"Explanation: Unavailable. Further information needed before drawing conclusion. Request for connection to check possible faults."

Megatron waived a dismissive servo before Soundwave's faceplates, anxious to get all these settled muttering irritably, "Fine, do what must be done – and do it quick!" and sat down on the desk chair.

Soundwave approached his leader to find that the outlet occupied by the memory drive was already opened for him. Megatron waited with an air of impatience – a motivation enough for the cassette-player to do whatever he was about to do as fast as possible. Megatron's slight glance to the side revealed to the warlord that Soundwave had had his digit extended, the tip transformed into some kind of a miniature plug. A curiously prickling sensation spread through his the circuitries in his cranial plating once the finger-plug was inserted into the outlet.

Megatron struggled to hold himself from rebelling against such intrusive actions. It helped to remind himself that the mech who performed it was Soundwave; not only he had the expertise to carry out operations like this, the Communication Expert was also trustworthy, unlike another of his…underling…who would have likely to shoot his null-rays right through Megatron's vital areas the first chance he got.

A klik of faceplates-scrunching later, Megatron suddenly realized that Soundwave had already withdrawn from his systems, indicated by the sudden vanishing of the prickling in his head-internals, and that his outlet had closed of its own volition as if it was unwilling to be checked any longer than necessary.

"Well?"

"Assumption: Inactive meta-processors. Possible cause: Starscream being in stasis lock."

"I see." Unlike most of his previous responses, which were largely directed to Starscream, Megatron meant it when he said this; He did really _see _what the problem was in this case. "I have learned that this fancy gadget of yours could send me Starscream's sensory feedbacks. Can't you somehow override it and activate his preceptors from here? At least, I need to know where Starscream is, in what condition, whatever details that may be useful to me."

"Request: Impossible. Reason: Requirement for active meta-processors for connection. Stasis-lock unable to be terminated unless Starscream's physical conditions being satisfactory."

Megatron stared at his deputy-SIC as if Soundwave had just announced that the whole Decepticon troops were over-energized and were unable for operation until they were sober again. "Then, what do you suggest, Soundwave?"

"Suggestion: Wait for Starscream's re-activation before attempting proper connection."

The intense flickering in Megatron's optics was an equivalent of the Earthling's annoyed eye-rolling when he received the answer – and he was not bothered to keep his thoughts of _you do not need to tell me the obvious_ from echoing in his CPU. Soundwave had a very good chance of hearing that out, since Megatron knew that his loudest and barest thoughts still could reach the navy-and-white mech without them being properly connected, but even if he did, he must have pretended that nothing ever passed. Still, he answered:

"Yes, your suggestion is accepted. You may leave now, Soundwave."

Soundwave executed a slight bow which was accompanied by his signature, "As you command, Lord Megatron," before backing away and left Megatron's living quarters.

Alone again, Megatron returned to face the windows behind him. The sharks have left by now, the only remains of their battles were the flakes of flesh drifting down like miniature snow-drops and faint traces of reds that threatened to dissolve completely any astrosecond. He had no idea what happened to the sharks; whether they had killed each other, or that one survived to live the glory of its slaughter, or that both were still alive, injured yet capable of recovery if given enough time, and were somehow consent in sharing the prey they had previously fought over. The last choice was the most unlikely, but strange things happened sometimes. Nobody knew whether miracles did happen just now, or other options were favoured.

None have the answer to what all these havocs might lead to, an analogue of what he and Starscream were going through.


	3. Chapter 3

Bumblebee was known throughout the Ark to be forming a very close friendship with the humans, particularly Spike Witwicky. The young boy found compatibility with the mini-bot like Perceptor with science – they were suited to each other. Spike and Bumblebee had shared many adventures together, from Autobot missions to pranks of their own doings. In short, whenever you see the yellow scout, you could almost guarantee that Spike was also nearby.

Right now, though, the two friends were not engaged in any vigorous, exciting activities. Somehow, Hound had managed to implant in Bumblebee's processors that Earthen sunrise was something that they should not have missed. So, figuring that it was worth trying aside from wanting to relax himself from his worry at having Starscream in the Ark, Bumblebee had invited Spike for some early sight-seeing, a proposition that the human had no objection to. Thus it was that Spike found himself on a leisurely dawn-time drive, dust kicking up behind the scout's alt-mode Volkswagen as it travelled the expanse of the dessert around the Ark. Despite the popular belief that deserts were naturally boring, Spike and Bumblebee had just discovered how beautiful mundane things could be when they slow down and really looked around. The first rays of sunlight were poking out from behind the many rock formations, creating deeply contrasting environments of deep shadows behind desert obstacles while intense bronze coloured the fine sands where lights touched the Earth. When Hound had summarized the whole thing to be 'beautiful', he was understating it.

"Whoa, it sure is beautiful around here," commented Spike; the understatement was unavoidable, but poets likely would have been able to describe what he saw more accurately. Since they had none with them, 'beautiful' would just have to do.

"Yeah, never thought I'll be agreeing on Hound's nature-fancying one orn," Bumblebee's light voice floated out of the radio speakers – It was the most common method for Transformers to communicate when in alt-modes and when not in critical situations.

"_Orn?_" Spike repeated, an eyebrow arching quizzically.

"It's Cybertronian time measurement. It's one Earth day, give or take a few hours."

"Never heard you guys use that before."

"We don't when talking to humans. We'll only confuse you, so we use your standard time measurements – days, seconds, all those you're familiar. I've just let slip just now."

"Oh," Spike giggled, imagining how exhausting it would be if Optimus Prime had to explain repeatedly to every human he talked to what _orn_ meant. No wonder he never heard the Autobots spoke it before.

Something clicked within Spike's mind. He leaned forward slightly and said:

"Hey, I've heard that you guys had caught yourselves a Decepticon. Is it true? What do you think Optimus wants to do with him?"

Amidst the rumbles of Bumblebee's engine, a subtle sighing intake was heard if one tuned his hearing for it. The Autobot scout was silent for a few moments before replying:

"You heard right, buddy. It's Starscream…but Optimus said he wanted to fix him and keep him prisoner. At least, until we obtain some Decepticon-insights from him. I don't know what to say, Spike. Optimus was right, we couldn't just terminate helpless enemies – it's Sparkless – but the danger doing that is freaking me out."

Spike looked thoughtful while gazing out through the side-windows. Bumblebee had learned that when the human's eyebrows met in the middle like they were right now, he was pondering and was best left undisturbed.

Finally, Spike spoke again, "I trust Optimus Prime. His calls are always the best."

The simple reply signified the sky-high level of faiths the human had in the Autobot leader. True, it was almost always best to heed Optimus's words, words which were born from his wisdom and logics, guided exquisitely by his compassion and life principles. It had kept the Autobots functional up to this very moment and Bumblebee had no notion to offline his audios to it. Half of the whole Autobots were not at ease with it, though they did not voice out their defying out loud.

It was calming to know that he and Spike were siding with the other half of the Autobots.

**XxXx**

Optimus Prime woke up from recharge early like he did every orn; it was a habit he had developed since he was Sparked in Iacon. He was the few Autobots who were awake long before sunrise even started, the prominent other being Prowl. His Second-In-Command was up and running even earlier than Optimus himself today, fearing Decepticon attacks for holding 'hostage' their key officer and was busily scanning the many camera-views displayed on the main display screen of Teletraan-1's Security Centre.

"Anything, Prowl?"

"Surprisingly, nothing sir – or nothing _yet_, at least. It's quite unsettling, given that the Decepticon is quite impulsive in their actions," the Datsun reported. It was obvious from the doorwings raised exceptionally high on his back that Prowl found the lack Decepticon sightings even more than simply 'unsettling'.

"Maybe Starscream's absence cripples their strategy-making," Optimus suggested as he read the report-datapads stacked neatly beside the main control panel.

"Maybe, though I will not completely count on it as our advantage."

'No, it will not be wise to do so. Megatron is not very known for it, but we know from experiences when oppressed he can improvise rather nicely. Besides, he still has Soundwave." Optimus's vents let out a silent rush of heated air, his private way to – as Sparkplug put it before – 'loosened tight screws', before saying, "If there is nothing of immediate attention here, I want to go checking out on Ratchet and his patient."

"No, sir. Everything is under control here."

The assurance lightened parts of the many worries crossing in Optimus's CPU, knowing that he could always rely on Prowl for things of this sort. He left the Datsun to continue doing his works for the med-bay. A handful of early-risers passed the truck-former and wished him the traditional _good morning, sir _as they went. Surprisingly, among them was one of his youngest soldiers, Bumblebee, and his human-friend Spike Witwicky, telling him that they had just went out for a little drive outside.

Skyfire appeared out of the side-hallways just as Optimus nodded to Jazz's energetic greeting. It was not surprising to see him at this hour – his Autobot-scientists tended to wake up early, and as Perceptor once explained it, _a mech learned nothing when he recharged excessively_. What _did _surprise the Autobot leader was the downcast optics the shuttle had. Even though Skyfire was not very expressive with calm expressions masking the real emotions brewing in his Spark, his optics had always been good indicators of his mental states. Usually the blue optics were bright and merry, or occasionally glowing with constant brightness in moments he was most focused in something. It was rare to see them dim and unenergetic, except when fatigue had him.

"Skyfire." Optimus greeted and said mech's head turned to regard the caller. A smile warmed up the grey faceplates when he realized that the Autobot Commander was walking at his side.

"Early as usual, Prime?"

"Unbreakable habit," Optimus replied, partly humorous. "Have you refueled, Skyfire? You do not look very well."

"I do?" Skyfire looked unexpectedly surprised at the comment, as if it was downright impossible. "Well, maybe I'm still tired. But don't worry, Prime; it's nothing. I can handle it."

"If that's the case, care to join me to see Ratchet? Maybe you will have ideas how you can help him best."

If anything, Optimus did not expect to receive such reactions from Skyfire, of all mechs; it might be subtle, but the barely-perceptible flick of his wings were enough to tell the Autobot leader that Skyfire was as close to fidgeting as he had ever seen.

"Skyfire? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine; don't worry." The shuttle did not looked very convincing but Optimus decided to let it pass. Skyfire was the sort of mechs who kept whatever they felt shut in their Sparks, unleashing them only when they felt right to do so. No amount of coaxing or forceful threats could make them reveal their secrets when they did not feel like it. 

In silence they walked together down the hallway, straight for Ratchet's territory which was situated at the end of it. Optimus Prime made no efforts to start a conversation, sensing the other's needs for privacy and letting him had it. Skyfire had his vocalizer shut off all the time – until they entered the med-bay and beheld for the first time the source of their current problems.

"_Primus_," the shuttle-former whispered when his optics centered on the unmoving figure lying atop the nearest medical berth, some 5 Cybertronian metres from him and Optimus.

Optimus Prime stole a sideways glance to see his friend's face, trying to discern what emotions that might reveal themselves. The split-astrosecond brightening of optics was all the indication the scientist let show, but it could be caused by a wide range of feelings. Even Optimus's high empathy could not narrow down to its exact source from such versatile reaction.

It took a nanoklik for them to realize that Ratchet was there too, unobtrusively working in the more shadowy area of the med-bay. Had he remained in the dark, they would not have even aware of the medic's presence – they did just now because he had the decency to approach them the instant he noticed the newcomers in his med-bay. From the splatters of oil and the shine of grease covering his servos and pedes, Optimus guessed that Ratchet had been doing some clean-ups; if the mood set in, Ratchet could beat up any 'cleanaholic' when it comes to his working environments' tidiness.

"Something I can do for you, Optimus?" Ratchet asked; his optics stayed locked on the Prime's yet his servo remained busy, snatching a tattered rag hanging nearby and used it to clean his dirtied limbs.

When Optimus answered that he just came to drop a visit and see what developments that Ratchet had made, the Autobot CMO nodded. To Skyfire, he said:

"Well, good that you are here. I've tried to do as much as I could, but I'm a little stumped here."

Ratchet did not gesture to them, but both Skyfire and Optimus followed him to Starscream's berth. The medic held true to his words, seeing that Starscream was almost fully restored to his former glory. There was no stain of dried energon-blood on his chassis which could be seen covering almost all surfaces available when they brought him here yesterday. Cracked armours were welded; holes in the metals were filled. The only thing that was apparently untouched from Ratchet's repairs were the wings, as they remained crumpled and scratched – in some areas, the edges were chipped or torn, revealing circuitries and delicate frameworks within.

"I've worked with tetra-jet-based Seekers only a handful of times, and I have never repaired their wing-internals. I did study them, but apparently Starscream's are quite…different."

"That's because he modified them personally to suit long-period outer-space flight."

Both Optimus Prime and Ratchet gave the same reactions upon hearing Skyfire's comments. It was expected that the shuttle would have valuable insights for Ratchet to conduct Starscream's repairs, seeing that he was a flyer himself, but what Skyfire did just said was rather…personal. It was impossible for him to say such things without knowing their Decepticon prisoner more deeply than they had first thought.

Skyfire's reply came out of his vocalizer automatically – without restraint, without needing of words-arranging. His CPU responded easily to the question whose answer he knew by Spark. Only when he noticed their optics staring at him with incredulity did he realized the involuntary slip. It would have been an amusing sight, the charismatic Autobot Commander and the grumpy medic looking rather ridiculously baffled like now, but the shock of realizing his mistakes erased all urges to laugh from Skyfire's systems to be replaced by dread.

Dimly he heard Ratchet's disbelieving, "Did I miss something here?" and Optimus's "Skyfire, what is the meaning of this?"

Would Optimus Prime be angry at him for withholding such important information? Would he lose the trust Ratchet had put in him? Would the other Autobots withdrawn the servos of friendship they had generously offered in the face of his defection from the Decepticon?

Would they ultimately declare him a traitor, and expelled him from the Ark?

"Skyfire?"

A light tap on his side felt like electric-filled touch of a shock-rod in his confusion. He flinched, instinctively backing away to avoid further contacts only to realize a nanoklik later that it was only Optimus's fingertips and not some sinister torturing devices.

"Prime…I'm…I'm sorry. I don't mean to…"

"It's alright, Skyfire. Now, is there something you wish to tell us?"

The Autobot leader had no hint of accusation in his tone; it was neither angry too. Ratchet's optic ridge rose as his characteristic impatience built up and he now stood in his _tell me whatever I need to know right now _posturewith his arms folded and one knee-joint slightly bent forward, but otherwise he showed no sign of unfriendliness. Overall, it was better than Skyfire had imagined.

Skyfire's optics shifted from Optimus to Ratchet and then back to Optimus. He had never felt such hesitance in his whole life. Still they waited as the shuttle contemplated his best action, wondering nervously how long he could keep this as a secret. They did not force him to, but in some ways Skyfire's reasoning told him that he owed them the explanation.

Cycling air through his chest-vents a few times, the shuttle eventually gathered enough courage to reply, "Yes, I _do _have something to tell you two."

"We're listening; don't worry, Skyfire. Take your time and tell us when you are ready," Optimus's deep voice was soothing to Skyfire's audios; the shuttle relaxed a little merely from hearing it.

"Well, we're not going anywhere." It sounded demanding, but it was only Ratchet's way of saying Optimus's earlier words.

Skyfire's pause lasted for a total klik; then, out of the blue, boldness from unknown sources suddenly swept through his systems, eradicating his fear and hardening his will enough for his vocalizer to spill out, his voice strong and confident, contrasting to his earlier self-doubts:

"Long ago, before Megatron's war consumed Cybertron, before the choosing whether to side with Decepticon or Autobot was mandatory…we are _friends_, Starscream and I."

The presence of his battle-mask served to conceal Optimus Prime's expressions rather well, but the sudden glow in his blue optics, noticeable only at intense scrutiny, was an undisputable demonstration of his shock. Ratchet, on the other servo, had no means to hide his reactions so the brightening of optics, the lower jaw falling open, the rise of an optic ridge, were all visible to Skyfire even if he was a megamile away from the medic.

Finally, after what it felt like joors – though in reality hardly a klik ever passed – Ratchet broke the uncustomary silence:

"Um, Skyfire? You are kidding, right?"

"I assure you that what I have just said is no joke. It is true, but that was vorns ago…before I became frozen on this planet." Skyfire knew that explaining this would be difficult; he had held this secret for so long that to speak about it out loud, to reveal it mechs other than himself, was _this _hard that it felt as if his own vocalizer was unwilling to cooperate. Still, what he had started must always be finished, so he continued, "We were exoplanet-explorers for Cybertron Science Academy at that time, tasked to map out possibly habitable worlds for studies later. But fates had us separated in a thunderstorm when we tried to land on this planet…and everything else went like I have told you before."

"…and four million Earth-years later, Starscream had found you again," Optimus murmured under his ever-present mask. He was standing with his arms folded together, like he always did when his CPU was busy absorbing newly-received information.

"I owed him my re-activation, Optimus. Had he ignored me, I would still be in stasis lock under the ice. I tried to return the favour by joining his faction, but…I can't be a Decepticon. It is just against my very personality," Skyfire was surprised to find hoarseness creeping into his normally-smooth voice; the memories were not just uncomfortable, they were more than that – they were a splinter buried so deep that to pull it out was a pain more than it was worth, but pain he had to endure if he was to break free.

"So, that's why the reluctance. You have always avoided from telling us about your past," Ratchet concluded gravely.

Skyfire inwardly flinched – he found Ratchet's tone disturbing. Was it like he had always feared, that truthfulness in eventuality cost him his newfound friendships with the Autobots?

"I don't know that Decepticons are evil at that time! Megatron lied to me, calling you enemies that hindered his efforts to bring back Cybertron to glory! And Starscream…Starscream did _nothing _to right the lie told to me…"

It was like he had exhausted his supply of energy; Skyfire felt so weak in that moment, so very _ashamed _of his naivety. The Starscream he knew was the one who had laughed while they flew across the sky of Cybertron and beyond side by side, not this one that had rescued him from the ice, the one who was now lying on Ratchet's operation berth. He staggered back a few steps and sat down on a nearby bench by the wall, his face cast down like a guilty mech.

"I really don't know that I was serving a tyrant's cause at that time…I thought…what I did was right…" The shuttle said from behind his servos of which he had his face buried in them.

"Easy, Skyfire. No one was saying that you're at fault. It's easy to make mistakes when put in your position," Ratchet's voice sounded a bit too clear if he had remained in the same position.

Looking up, Skyfire saw that the medic and his Commander had made to approach him while he had his optics blocked in the cupping of his palms. Like his voice, Ratchet's faceplates held no hint of hostility; instead, a small understanding smile curved one corner of his lip components upwards. Skyfire jerked when he felt a firm grip on his shoulder-plates, but it proved to be nothing more than Optimus's servo conveying soothing touches to the tense shuttle.

"That is exactly what Megatron would do – He cheats. He destroys, physically and metaphorically. He destroyed Cybertron and he _tried _to destroy you. Luckily, he failed and we gained a formidable comrade in return."

"He nearly succeeded, Prime…It was hard to believe that Starscream serves under that – that excuse of a Transformer!" Skyfire's vents hitched as they struggled to cycle cool air through his anger-heated systems. "Thank Primus I did not remain blinded…"

"And now, we may have a chance to un-blind Starscream as well…Skyfire, I ask you again, because I do not force you to do it if you are not willing, but are you sure that you want to help Ratchet with Starscream's repairs?"

Skyfire knew that Optimus Prime did not ask this because of doubts he had on his ability, but rather it was concern that his old wounds would be pried open by being in contact with his ex-friend. It was a reasonable fear in Optimus's part, but Skyfire did not feel it necessary.

"…I'm sure. Don't worry, Prime; I can control myself, I know the line between personal and professional."

Optimus tightened his grip on Skyfire's shoulder-armours before loosening it back again an astrosecond later; it was a gesture meant for assurance and comfort to the receiver. The white flyer returned with a smile and stood up, his leader's servo sliding away as he did.

Ratchet was likewise relieved with Skyfire's answers – he _could _do all the repairs on his own, he being an experienced CMO, but it would take a lot longer if Skyfire refused to help. Like all good doctors, Ratchet did not intend to confine Starscream to the berth any longer than necessary.

"Let's get busy, then," Ratchet's voice was light and easy, but Skyfire knew how serious the medic was when it came to repairing injured mechs.

"Then I'll better be off before the doctor gets angry." It was rare for the Autobots to hear their leader laughed – his amusement was usually displayed in silence, hidden behind the impenetrable battle-mask, but the hint of chuckles at the edge of his sentence was evident enough of his struggles at controlling himself from laughing.

"Good. Save my vocalizer a few words today," Ratchet replied casually but it caused the dam to burst; out of Optimus's vocalizer, his laughter broke and echoed in the med-bay, thunderous and yet pleasant to audios it reached.

"Good luck, you two," he said at the end of his laughing release, just in time before the med-bay's door was closed.

Ratchet was hunched over Starscream's frame but he was not doing anything – only his optics worked, drinking in details of his chassis to find out spots that still might need repairs other than his wings. Skyfire joined in and bent down slightly, careful not to block out the med-bay's lights from reaching their patient.

"I think we need to re-wire the entire wings," Skyfire said finally after a full klik of unbroken observation. "Primus, I think we need to _build_ new wings."

"Why?" Again, Ratchet's optic ridge shot up in puzzlement. "Not to argue with your knowledge, but they look like needing a few welds and fixing then they'll be alright – to me, that is."

"I know, but look here –" Skyfire pointed specifically to a long smooth weld line running along the leading edge of the left wing, " – and here –" he shifted to point at a nearly imperceptible blotch on the right wing's joint, no doubt a trace of putty used to seal hole-like damages that could not simply be welded shut, " – these are all impeccable fixes, but the wings simply have been repaired too many times already. If we continue the repairs, the wings will lose their perceptions of their surroundings. The damages will be repaired, of course, but in flight it will not have been much better than losing them altogether since they cannot gather flight details anymore."

"So…you are saying that Starscream needs to have his wings kept in high sensitivity to fly safely?" Ratchet asked, optics following Skyfire's digit as the shuttle continued to gesture towards the battle scars present on the white wings. They were all faint, but at close look there were many of them, indicating just how severely abused the appendages were.

Skyfire nodded at the question. Under his palms, he could feel more bumps and dips under the supposedly-level sheet of metals, more evidences of repairs that were initially undetectable by optical sensors. The layer of scars and weld lines must have desensitized the wings to some degree already that Skyfire wondered how Starscream have coped with his conditions when his rank compelled him to be in the air nearly every single orn.

"I may be able to build him a new pair of wings if Wheeljack still has that Cybertanium ore with him...I'm sure you know the basic circuitries of Seeker, Ratchet?"

"Of course – but like I said, I am not familiar with Starscream's modifications so a little help will be needed." Ratchet's frowns almost made Skyfire to burst out chuckling – apparently, to admit being inexperienced with a mech's anatomy was a torture to a CMO like him, even though it was perfectly understandable given that Starscream's wiring was out of the ordinary.

"And help you will get," Skyfire assured without any intention of sounding arrogant – Ratchet had suffered enough already for the admittance. Quietly, he murmured, more to himself than to the medic, "I hope he hadn't done further customizations or – "

Skyfire stopped mid-sentence as his vocalizer stalled in surprise; the sudden halt interested Ratchet, who began peering down at their patient and gasped himself.

It was almost negligible, but there was no mistaking to the mechs' sensitive optics of the subtle jerking Starscream's middle-finger had made.

"Waking up?" Skyfire whispered to the medic, who in turn peered at the screen showing various conditions of Starscream's systems.

"Trying to, but he won't. I've keyed in universal override codes to keep him in forced recharge. I'm not Hook to continue repairs when my patient is conscious."

Universal override codes were purely for medical purpose – an equivalent of humans' anesthetics, executed only when one's systems were weakened enough by injuries or other forms of stresses. However, there were cases where resilient individuals were able to undo the crippling programming and break out of forced recharge without external helps. As far as Skyfire's knowledge went, Starscream's personality might be stubborn enough to do just that.

"Do you think he can break the codes?"

As if responding to Skyfire's doubts, Starscream's fingers twitched again, making grasping-like movements at the berth's ledge.

"…I don't think so. Even though I've repaired his damages, his energy is low," Ratchet replied even as he pointed to the energy reading on the monitor – currently, it was at 33%, too low to support any struggles Starscream might have attempted but was still in the safe zone before immediate refueling was needed. "But that doesn't stop him from trying, it seems."

"True, he's always so determined…We have to hurry and dismantle his wings, just in case…"

Ratchet had no verbal reply; instead, he picked up a laser scalpel from the bedside desk and a screw-driver was held in the other servo. Skyfire followed suit, reaching out his servo to pick up tools of his choice.

"Let's get done with this then."

The two Autobots said no more. Both knew what had to be done so they bent down and started working on the unconscious jet.

**XXXXX**

Megatron's optics flickered as his systems finished rebooting. His internal chronometer registered that he had been in recharge only for about 4 breems, far too short than his average recharge period but to initiate another cycle was quite impossible now, given that his systems were fully online.

Wide awake with no hope of recharging, Megatron abandoned his trials and sat up in the darkness. The lighting in his quarters was specially dimmed before for undisturbed rest, but now that he _was_ disturbed nevertheless, he switched them to their normal adjustments. His quarters came into clarity as soft lights washed all over the uniform purple surfaces characteristic of Nemesis interiors. Off to a corner, his work desk was left littered with unstacked, yet-to-be-finished data-pads and groaned as he was reminded of the immensity of the works that lay ahead. However, right now, it was of minor concern to him – what had the bulge of his attention was the slight tingling in his head-interiors.

_Virus?_ He thought, but the possibility of it was quickly eradicated when a quick scan determined that his systems were clean of them. Furthermore, it must had been more than 30 vorns since he was last struck by viral infections – in the aftermath, it had acted as an accidental vaccination and boosted his immunization software, rendering him almost invincible to such attacks. No, it was not virus that had awakened him. It was –

**I don't want to be deactivated…**

Optics brightening in surprise, Megatron would have toppled over or fell off from the edge of his berth had his servos did not manage to grab the decorative ledge on the wall. His processors buzzing with confusion was very distracting, but even that could not bury the tingling warmth in his circuitries, sourced from exactly where the memory drive was implanted into him.

It had to be…it had to come from him…

"Starscream?" He whispered as though said Seeker was within audio range. He could not stop the name from escaping his vocal passage – the voice, the thought inside the jet's processors, picked by the memory drive under his helm, had sounded so real, so near, it was like his physical body was present here with him. It was like yesterday was nothing more than a playback of non-existent memories in an extended, realistic nightmare…that all these – Starscream's sudden capture, Skywarp's anguish, Thundercracker's silent rage – had never actually happened.

For an astrosecond Megatron thought that was the case.

**Don't let me fall.**

The warlord jerked in surprise, but he was better prepared this time. There goes the slim hope of the unpleasant event being his only imagination.

**I'm afraid of deactivation. Don't let me fall!**

Yes, he recognized the particular numbness when he received words instead of mere sensory perceptions from the Seeker. There was no mistaking of Starscream's CPU-speaking. Megatron strained himself to strengthen the unholy connection to his Seeker, trying to obtain more than this phantom of his condition. What happened to him though? Why was he falling?

**Save me!**

Megatron was used to hear the litany of begs from Starscream whenever he was out 'disciplining' his SIC, but this…this anonymity of the Seeker's circumstances – _unnerved?_ – him more than he thought he would be. He was not in control of Starscream's fear this time. He was powerless.

**Give me strength – Help me!**

The connection remained vague no matter how much efforts he put into solidifying it into something more comprehensible link. The jet's processors simply refused to connect to his. It was like Starscream was not really conscious. Maybe he was still in stasis lock or forced recharge? That would explain the delirious rambling…

**Don't let me fall…please…**

The words died down as the link faded into oblivion even as Megatron fought to keep it coherent. In the end, he was left overheated for he had utilized every concentration at his disposal to scan and detect the vanishing connection to no avail. With a disappointed groan the tyrant let his chassis fell backward to lie on the berth. Wisps of steam smoked out of seams available on his helms as coolant fluids flowed over the heated circuitries inside and evaporated. The strain was surprisingly intense, given that no brawn was needed at all.

He had failed to receive feedbacks from Starscream's surrounding preceptors, which meant that his theory that the Seeker was still unconscious was acceptable – Starscream could not have consciously denied connection whenever the warlord initiated it.

At least that was a solid proof of Starscream still being functional, he told himself. It was not what Megatron would have called good evidence, but it served its purpose. It would be a terrible loss to the Decepticon if they lose a very capable fighter, albeit a treasonous one at that – he had endured Starscream's disloyalty for as long as he did for good reasons, and that was in part supplemented by his capacity to lead. The Seeker was annoying most of the times, distracting at the very best, but when he put his Spark into it his leadership was second only to his own and Optimus's.

Megatron rose from his berth and shuffled to his work desk as if a metal ball was dragging his every step. The datapads messily spread upon its surface were the many reports of Soundwave on the failure of their last power plant raid. _Forty-five energon cubes had been processed_…he read as his glance chanced to fall upon one of the lines of the uppermost datapad. It was far too little to sustain an army like his. He would have to make more raids soon…and not just any raids. They have to be successful or his troops would be under-energized, making them easy targets to the accursed Autobots.

A pang hit him suddenly; he had just realized the magnitude of the difficulty of their situations – making profitable attacks _without _the obvious aerial advantage with no functioning Air Commander. His last news on the remaining Seekers was that Skywarp had been reduced to state of sorrowful silence while Thundercracker, though handled the stresses better, was busy comforting his trinemate. The Coneheads…well, they were as good as being non-existent when it came to being candidates for such important position. Their aims were poor – their sense of logics even poorer, Megatron doubted they actually had any.

There was only one choice even though he already had his servos busy but personal matters came later. Sitting on his chair to re-start his unfinished signing on the reports, he contacted the next in leadership after Soundwave:

::Megatron to Tundercracker.::

There was a longer-than-normal pause filling the gap of silence between Megatron's summon and Thundercracker's answer which lasted for nearly half a klik before the flyer's deep voice answered:

::Thundercracker at your command, Lord Megatron.::

::I want you to act in Starscream's stead while he is away – that means _you_ being the temporary Air Commander.::

More pause. ::But Megatron, Skywarp –::

::– I am very much aware of Skywarp's condition and your responsibility towards him as the remaining trinemember, but my order _always _come FIRST!:: Megatron's already thin patience was being scraped away even thinner like sandpapers grazing rust off metal sheets. Didn't any of them understand the desperateness of their situations?

::No, I don't mean like that, my lord! It's only…we function best in a complete trine, but with Starscream and Skywarp both unavailable for battle, we'll be –::

::– Primus, cut off your whining, Thundercracker!::Megatron's anger finally exploded when Thundercracker inserted the last straw. He had had enough! ::Are you a soldier or a vornling, for Pit's sake? Fine, I'll give you both off-duties for one more orn. After that, I expect you both to be ready and prepared for energy raids! Are we clear?::

::…Yes, Lord Megatron.::

_Finally_. A reluctant agreement, but that would just have to do for now.

::Good. Megatron out!:: The Decepticon leader actually snapped when he said that. He rarely did through the comm. link except to Starscream – he preferred the satisfaction of the physical scolding through his vocalizer rather than through the silent communication channels.

That was one problem down. Now, for the battle-plans.

Only Soundwave was available or qualified to discuss such things with him. Hmm, maybe he would include a representative of Devastator-mergers too since he would need the Constructicons more than ever now.

He didn't think further once his decision was made and Scrapper and Soundwave were summoned to the rec. room while he himself exited his living quarters for the meeting place.

**XxXx**

Thundercracker sat in silence in Skywarp's living quarters while contemplating the possibility of making recovery just in time before going into battles while leading the Air Force at the same time. Though there were numbers of times before in which he was needed to hold the role as the Air Commander, so he was confident that in his normal condition leading a strike was not a huge problem, but with his purple trinemember not quite stabilized it seemed a burdensome task.

Skywarp was huddling close at his side, wide awake but unmoving. He had his knee-joints drawn up and folded upon themselves; his arms hugging them close to his cockpit. Once merry optics glowed a dull crimson in the dim room, an externalization of the usually-ruthless jet's sorrow and distress.

Thundercracker shifted a little to face his trinemate's downcast faceplates. "'Warp? Skywarp?"

"Mm-hm?" The chin was raised a little only so that their optics were level, but the rest of Skywarp remained statue-still.

"Be strong, Skywarp. Megatron wants us battle-ready by tomorrow…can you do that?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed the otherwise unresponsive faceplates. A feral grimace – more of a grin to mechs who were not used to Skywarp's expressions – curved his lip components. "That slagger…now that he has no Screamer to bully, he goes for us now, does he?"

"He wants us to fight, that's all," the blue Seeker countered although he secretly shared almost the same thought.

Skywarp's vents gave out a huff of air as he continued, "We don't have any choice now, do we?"

It was a rhetorical question which was voiced simply because it had to be, for the sake of anger-releasing. Because of this, Thundercracker did not answer his friend but remained silent.

"Did he ever think of rescuing Screamer?"

Now that was _not_ rhetorical but it was a difficult question to answer. No one knew for sure how Megatron's logic circuits processed information and devised solution to given problems, not even Soundwave, who had been his 3IC from almost the beginning of Decepticon army's founding by the ex-gladiator. Sometimes Megatron proved to be very logic-oriented while the rest proved to be rather random.

Thundercracker's mouth curled downwards. "I don't know. Let's hope at least he has a plan for it. If not…"

The blue-white jet-former did not need to finish his sentence to make his meaning known. Although they were Decepticons who were bound by oath of loyalty to Megatron, their Seeker-trine's vow was even stronger than that. Tradition among their flying cultures had it that to form a trine was to tie a family-like bond that strengthened each member when going into wars. It was mandatory for them to protect each other no matter the cost, to treat them like siblings of the same Creators, to be at each other's sides when all was lost. One important code that was held sacred by the Seekers was that help must be given when one needed it; failing at it meant a life-time indignity, and for Transformers who could endure millions of stellar cycles unchanging, it was the ultimate torture that a proud Seeker could be subjected to.

Right now, Starscream was obviously in need of help, help which they were yet to give. Thundercracker and Skywarp had been hoping to fulfill the vow through Megatron when he launched a rescue mission but so far they had not seen indications of such acts. If this inactivity was prolonged, then they would have to take matters into their own servos even if it cost them Megatron's wrath…

"…Let's hope that it won't come to that." The purple-black Seeker shuddered; bound by the Trine Vow and Megatron's displeasure, he was truly stuck in between.

Thundercracker nodded. Both choices could end up with equally tormenting results if they gone against one.

It was inherent in them to be proud with their Seeker cultures that overtime, Seekers had evolved to be somewhat a vain ethnic, but the traditions were undying no matter under what banners they fought. They were compelled to keep the vow. However, Megatron was not one to tolerate disloyalty – unlike Starscream, they had no advantages of being exceptional warriors; good perhaps, but nothing near the brilliance of their trineleader, which made him rather indispensible. So far, whatever mistakes they made had inevitably fallen onto Starscream's shoulder-plates to bear with him being their Air Commander. Now that he was gone, any fault would lead straight to Thundercracker and the Seeker had a buzzing in his CPU that Megatron would not punish him with just beatings. No, he would be in for worse consequences if he failed – disobeying orders and going out by themselves to rescue Starscream would likely be his demise.

Consumed by his nervous thoughts, Thundercracker sub-spaced an energon cube and drank the content down in a single gulp. Its coolness rushing down his fuel piping, straight into his tanks, was somewhat relieving even though it did not make their problems go away. He extracted another cube and offered it to Skywarp, who reached for it and finished the energon just as quickly.

For long kliks they just sat there on the floor, uncaring how pathetic an image they were presenting. They could care less about others' opinions right now. Recharge was elusive for both flyers, having rested well through the dark Earth-hours, even for Thundercracker – Being older and more battle-hardened, he needed even less recharge-hours than Skywarp and had fallen into standby-mode right there with the purple Seeker halfway through the night.

"I want high-grades," Skywarp suddenly interrupted the quiet kliks.

It was hard to resist the tempting thought, to be lost in the haze of over-energizing and let their processors-ache masked even for a while but Thundercracker's reasoning won in the end.

"That's a bad idea, 'Warp. We have enough without having to cope with the hangover."

Skywarp gave a flick of his shoulder-plates as an answer, a gesture reminiscent of a shrug. "Well, it seems like a good idea to me."

"For now. Not for tomorrow."

"…Well, what about some fly-around?"

"No, that Slag-Maker will dismantle us piece to piece with our low energon stock!"

Thundercracker saw where Skywarp was trying to lead him to – the purple-black Seeker needed some outlet to vent out his frustration and nervousness. Flying and doing pranks other Decepticons were his usual favourites, but the latter choice wasn't very appealing with his current mood. That left flying – but that activity was rather energy-consuming. Megatron had wanted his troops to save as much energon cubes as possible so as to make it last as long as possible while he worked on new plans for energy-stealing.

"Fraggit, TC! I need to do something other than sitting down and doing nothing!" He vented out with vehemence. Skywarp had always been the most active and lively in the trine so this dormancy was unsettling to his free-spirited nature.

"Seems our only choice, 'Warp. Come one, only this orn and tomorrow you'll be back harassing the Autobots!"

Skywarp huffed in frustration, admitting defeat. He acknowledged that he was not the most intelligent in the trine, but he was just as ruthless as them and required his own share of gore and fights. However, current circumstances demanded his rarely-used patience until he could utilize his armaments on some unfortunate Autobots.

"So…we sit down and do nothing until tomorrow?"

"Yes." Thundercracker put an arm across the purple Seeker's back, the servo reaching out across his spinal strut to stroke the back of the wing in a soothing manner. Skywarp went silent and concentrated on the digits moving across his back – Thundercracker was employing a Seeker gesture meant to comfort the receiver, consisting of simple vertical sweep of the palm from the wing-joint to the far edge.

Skywarp gave a low groan and let himself be pulled closer to his blue trinemate, who sensed his miniscule relaxing at the calming signatures – no matter how upset he was, Thundercracker would always find a way to ease his feelings. Starscream might not be returned to the trine yet, but right now, to know that at least he had the older Seeker at his side was comforting. In return, Skywarp's own servo wandered to Thundercracker's wing which was closest to him and repeated the movements on his own wing in reverse. It was the formal answer to Thundercracker's efforts to cheer him up, which would roughly mean _thank you _if it was to be translated into words.

"Do you have any more cube with you? At least I'm sitting and refueling instead of sitting and doing nothing."

Thundercracker's laughter was generally categorized as 'eerie' by a majority of the listeners, but Skywarp thought different. It was not very shocking since the blue Seeker only usually laughed out of sadistic pleasure in destroying enemies – or sometimes, when he saw the results of Skywarp's pranks on the other Decepticons when the humour got him. However, Thundercracker was laughing this time not because of cruel reasons which made his deep voice sounded pleasant to Skywarp's audios.

Skywarp's irritation meant that he was closer to his normal personality than ever before. Thundercracker would do all he could to keep him that way so wordlessly, he pulled out more energon cubes and handed them all to his trinemate. It was meant to be drunk later but considering the chance for Skywarp's moods to be alleviated even more after drinking them, he did not regret wasting them for unnecessary refuelling.

As Thundercracker downed his own energon, he wondered if the tide would turn better once tomorrow came. With Skywarp's mentality stabilized for now, he hoped that nothing would go amiss or this trine would be doomed.

He did not know if he could live past the trauma of losing a trine. He had had enough.


	4. Chapter 4

The atmosphere in Teletraan-I grew tense as its security systems beeped warnings for all the Autobots to hear that morning. Alarm lights flashed in the corridors where pede-steps clanked loudly in the confined space as Optimus Prime ran down along it, heading towards the Command Deck that it sounded as if there were two Gears's, Bumblebees, Trailbreakers, Hounds, Ironhides, Jazzes and Warpaths trailing behind the Autobot Commander instead of only one of each. The alarm was registered to be of highest priority, making it almost certain that it was triggered by Decepticon's presence. Murmurs rose as more fellow Autobots joined in – most of the Autobot soldiers were rather peaceful in nature, given that their original programming by the Quintessons to be consumer goods, but some were rather hot-headed. It was these few that were engaged in spirited chatters in mounting anticipation of the battles to come.

Optimus Prime couldn't help but to shake his helm mentally as he overheard the Lamborghini twins were engaged in discussions of how it was best to jet-judo the remaining Seekers of the Command Trine, now that they already held Starscream in custody. The truck-former had had enough confusion about the reasonable methods to treat their enemies should they came into their grasps. Starscream's presence had evoked debates on this topic, since they could not so widely offered similar generosity to the Decepticon – as Ratchet had blandly said, they were in a war, like it or not. Optimus could only hope that identical cases as complicated as these would come in few and far between.

Arriving at the Ark's Command Deck, Optimus saw that they were already preceded by Red Alert, Prowl and Inferno. He was not very surprised, since those three was the most responsive to emergency calls in the whole of the Ark. The trio were joined by Optimus's newly-arriving party and stood before the gigantic main screen, now depicting an Earthly map somewhere in the United States.

"s'it too much ta' hope that those 'Cons throwin' an open party this time?"

The majority of them snickered at Jazz's spontaneous comment; Prowl's optic ridge arched in quizzical disbelief that it almost vanished under the shadows of his chevron. Optimus Prime concealed his smile to himself, his cerulean optics betraying no mirth he was feeling – The Porsche always managed to insert randomness into almost any kind of situation.

"Prowl; status." Optimus's single-word command resonated through the room, his powerful voice overriding all other hindering noises.

The Datsun patroller cycled out a rush of air through his vocal passage a few times in quick succession – basically, a 'throat-clearing cough', as humans would have put it, and answered as professionally as possible, "The Decepticon, sir. They are on the way to a dam two hundred and sixteen miles North-West of the Ark."

True to his words, the image transmitted by Teletraan-1's SkySpy to the main screen had replaced the map displayed earlier. The live-feed video indicated that a host of Decepticon raiding party was indeed airborne, no doubt to rob said humans' dam of its energy. A silver point lead the larger-than-normal formation, followed by a section of moving lime-green blurs. At the front was no mistaking that it was Megatron, but the greenish mechs behind looked a bit familiar...?

"Teletraan-I, zoom in on the image. Seven-time magnification," Optimus ordered.

"Commence magnification," answered the supercomputer's monotonic voice. The image increased in size while its clarity sharpened with each stage of enlargement.

"You got to be kidding me," Bluestreak's voice was greeted with agreeing chatters as they saw clearly the identities of mechs making up the green portion of the party: Bonecrusher, Mixmaster, Scavenger, Scrapper, Hook and Long Haul.

"Those are the Constructicons!"

"Devastator! We're doomed!"

"What can we do? We have to find a way to beat that monster-Con!"

"Shoot! That dam's as good as gone!"

Optimus raised a servo high above his head; immediately, the Autobots quietened at the silencing gesture.

"Autobots, no matter what Megatron is throwing in our paths, our cause will remain the same; we have to stop those Decepticons. Have courage, all of you, because giving up means we will have lost half of the battle already."

Silence reigned in the Command Deck; of those who were complaining because of the formidable merger's presence in the upcoming fights, the shame of letting Optimus down overwhelmed their fears and fuelled their spirits to prove their worth again in the optics of their Commander – though in reality, Optimus Prime's judgement of his soldiers wavered not a notch. It was understandable that they felt intimidated by Devastator's devastating capabilities.

"As for the Constructicons...we will have to even the odds. Wheeljack?"

"Here, Prime," the inventor stepped out from the mass through a path cleared by his fellow Autobots.

"Call the Dinobots – We are in need of their superior might. Have Grimlock lead them in a separate team. They can be dispatched easier should Devastator comes into play."

Wheeljack nodded and ran off as fast as he could to fetch the Dino-formers off in their caves. Although Optimus Prime was admitted as their overall leader for they had pledged allegiance to the Autobots, the mecha-dinosaurs bent their wills easiest to either Wheeljack or Ratchet since they were their creators; Optimus's Matrix of Leadership granted them lives and sentience, but their existences they owed to the CMO and the inventor, since it was their ideas to build dinosaur-transforming robots in the first place.

"That should balance the scale, if not tipping it to our side entirely," the Matrix-bearer assured his troops upon Wheeljack's departure. To Jazz, he issued, "Assemble a counter-strike team. I will follow shortly."

The Special Operation Agent gave Optimus the affirmative and left the place. The rest of the Autobots poured out of the Command Deck as well for the choosing, leaving the Prime with Prowl and Red Alert. The two officers would not be accompanying their Commander on this mission – the Security Director rarely left the Ark to keep watch on the Autobot Headquarter. In Prowl's case, the high risk involved in the dam's defence made it impractical to have the two highest-ranking mech in the Autobot army at the same place.

"Megatron looks like losing his confidence now, isn't he?"

The truck-former heard his SIC said as he studied the general geographic features of the dam's surroundings while simultaneously downloading important details of their mission into his CPU. He understood the figurative meaning behind Prowl's comment; it was rare for Megatron to bring along Devastator for a simple raid. The fact that he did now because of Starscream's absence indirectly said just how much responsibility and trust the tyrant put in his SIC.

"Seven Decepticons in the place of one...I'm assuming that Megatron is not willing to risk more loss."

"I don't blame him, though; imagine us losing Prowl instead."

Prowl received Red Alert's compliment with indifference but his doorwings read his embarrassment and displayed it unconsciously with a subtle quivering. Optimus detected it, though he decided to keep quiet about it.

"It will be worse if we lose Optimus Prime – which brings us to the current situation," the Datsun police-car replied. When he said these, no trace of embarrassment was detectable in his voice.

"Don't worry; we will all be careful," Optimus said. The downloading had been finished and he left the Command Deck to join Jazz and his servo-picked team outside.

It was perhaps two joors away from mid-day, judging by the position of the sun in the sky when Optimus exited the Ark – his chronometer confirmed his educated guess. Jazz stood at the forefront of the defence party which consisted of Warpath, Wheeljack, Ironhide, Ratchet, Trailbreaker, Bluestreak, Bumblebee, Gears, Brawn, Smokescreen, the Lambo-twins and of course, the Dinobots. Grimlock, their unofficial leader, stood in his robotic form at the front of his fellows, right behind Wheeljack and Ratchet. Upon seeing the Autobot Commander arriving in their midst, Jazz nodded to him and declared, "We're ready, Prime."

Optimus gave an answering nod to his 3IC and tilted his helm in the direction of the Dino-formers, "Dinobots, transform and provide cover on our back."

At the same instant, all five Dinobots altered their forms to assume their dinosaurian mode; Grimlock became the infamous T-Rex; Sludge changed into the long-necked Sauropod; Slag, a formidable Triceratops; Snarl, a hardy Stegosaurus; and lastly, Swoop, transforming into a true flyer as a Pterosaur.

Optimus Prime issued the next order once the Dinobots have taken their formations and waited for the rest of the Autobots to make their move:

"Autobots, transform and roll out!"

Mechanical grinding sounds filled the area as the Transformers lived up to their names and adopted their terrestrial forms. Twelve land-based vehicles were parked exactly where the gigantic robots were barely two astroseconds ago. In the various collections of vehicles, a stunning blood-red truck stood out among them all, spitting thick smokes through the vertically-mounted twin exhaust piping at either side of it as the wheels began to roll forward. Porsche-Jazz fell into formation right behind Optimus, wheels screeching to gain traction on the dust-covered ground. Ironhide came next with Ratchet at his side; soon all Autobots were moving in their designated position, the Dinobots bringing up the rear. High above them, Pterosaur-turned Swoop circled the moving team in a wide arc that encompassed them all while keeping constant speed similar to the Autobots below to keep track of them.

In the midst of the roars of engine, the yell of Grimlock from far behind was still loud enough to reach Optimus at the forefront of the company:

"Grimlock want to smash Decepticons!"

**_xxxxx_**

The sound of the Autobots rolling away faded from Skyfire's audios as their distances from the Ark increased. By now, the shuttle was used to the scenario since he would usually volunteer out of active missions like this one. No, Skyfire was no coward – far from it, in fact. He had no fear in confronting the Decepticons, especially when he was granted with power parallel to his size. To him, lifting Megatron was a Sparkling's play as he had demonstrated back when he decided to leave the tyrant's faction – he even tossed him with effortlessness into the ice! Airborne fights? He feared engaging in air-to-air combats just as much as he did with dynametal ducks – which was none at all. It was a restricted knowledge that the shuttle, despite his tremendous size, was an accomplished dogfighter who could match a Seeker in manoeuvrability and a gladiator in his brute strength. No, the reason he avoided the hustles and bustles a war offered not because of physical limitations – rather, it was his personality.

Skyfire could care less about proving his battle prowess if the Autobots thought him weak, but he already did that anyway. Respects he gained from them partially came from his downright defiance to Megatron. Also, when he became the transporter for the Autobots to Cybertron when the planet was space-bridged into Earth's orbit, he had displayed every bit of warrior-like elements when he sneaked them passed the planet's defence networks during their way into and out of it. He was not proud of his achievements, though, no matter how outstanding it seemed – he was a scientist deep down, right to his Spark's core. He enjoyed science, not war; he loves exploring, not killing. Like Optimus Prime, he would not hesitate in battles, but being involved in them did not necessarily mean that he indulged in them.

Right now, Skyfire was alone in Wheeljack's workshop – which was actually a large area in the Ark filled with building tools. The lighting was switched to full power. The Autobot inventor had willingly let him use it while he worked to design and build Starscream his much-needed wings. A sketch-filled blueprint laid spread on the table, illuminated by a single lamp mounted low on the wall, just above the desk's surface. Electro-pens and digital-erasers were strewn across the shiny expanse of the desk. The shuttle had one of the former in his right servo, the tip resting delicately against his chin-guard. Optics scanned the sketch once again for faulty designs for perhaps the twelfth time – he could not exactly remember. _Yes_, he thought to himself, _it is as it should be._ Although he had reference images in designing the wing-sheets, Skyfire relied more on his data banks – Starscream's chassis was like a map he had memorized after watching over and over again. A seam here, a fold there, everything was envisioned almost perfectly in his processors.

Currently, Perceptor was monitoring Starscream's conditions in the med-bay. The Science Officer was kind enough to replace Ratchet while the medic went off with Optimus Prime on their defend-the-dam mission, understanding the need to have a medic on stand-by with such formidable enemies in store. Devastator was a force to be reckoned with, since he was by far the largest Cybertronian he had ever seen. When the alarms blared and Ratchet guessed readily what could be the cause, he had also sensed the need of his presence in whatever mission that lay ahead and hence, had asked Perceptor whether he was willing to keep an optic on Starscream until he returned. Skyfire processed that it would be necessary for him to give proper thanks to the microscope who had accepted the task without a fuss, since it seemed as if no Autobots would be willing to get within 20 Cybertronian metre-radiuses from Starscream, either out of doubts or hostile feelings towards the flyer.

Skyfire went on with his works even though his CPU was busy reflecting the hustles of this morning – as a scientist, he was trained to be used in multi-tasking, an advantage that sometimes allowed him to be lost in processors-drift when his current works were not very demanding. Once in a while he glanced at the huge storage cabinet in a far corner of the workshop where various minerals were contained, including the Cybertanium ore that he would need for the construction of the wings. They were running short on said substance, but a Seeker's wings could not be carelessly built and that includes their materials. There was little compromise in this; an Earth-aircraft's wings might substitute a Seeker's original ones when in emergency, but that was only it – for emergency. Then, the Seeker would have to find a true wing made of Cybertanium.

Once more, a great rush of air was expelled through his pectoral vents as Skyfire heaved a sigh; he had to wait for Wheeljack's return for his aids. The white flyer had some knowledge in building, but it was not his expertise. It was Wheeljack's. Like Ratchet with the wings' re-wiring who needed Skyfires's help, so too did Skyfire needed Wheeljack in this regard – not exactly necessary, but a lot better if he did. In the meanwhile, he could do something before the Autobot inventor came back to the Ark, which could be in another 4 joors at the very least, looking at the distance spanning the battle-site and the Ark and not counting the approximate time the wars would take.

Having made his decision, Skyfire went off to get a respectable-sized lump of Cybertanium ore from the cabinet – at least he could purify the ore of any impurity that might resided within before the real works could begin. He fetched a set of apparatus to do just that from the cabinet, set them up on the working table and began his works.

Meanwhile, in another section of the Ark, Perceptor was lost in his own world while examining an interesting specimen of an Earth's organic – a stick-like insect too small for his regular optics that he had to switch to his microscope alt-mode to view it. The med-bay where he was currently occupying was sparingly lit; the lamps were switched on only at his working area. Starscream's berth was not far off, but only the fringes of lights reached it. Parts of his armours glinted where they were illuminated, but most of the flyer's body was shrouded in shadows. Hence, it was of no surprise that the microscope did not realize the slight twitch Starscream's lip-components made, nor did he noticed the subtle quivers of Starscream's digits. They were the only indications that the Seeker displayed from his silent struggles.

The med-bay was silent...for now.

_**xxxxx**_

The Autobot convoy was travelling at a decidedly unsatisfying speed, though it was the fastest that they could manage. Jazz, for example, could hit nearly 200 miles per hour if he wanted to, a sport car as he was, but he was driving in a group consisting of a large truck, a van, an ambulance and a tank, to name a few. Not all of them could manage speeds like his, so Jazz contented himself at an average of 60 miles per hour. At the tail of the group, Grimlock the Tyrannosaurus Rex managed to keep up despite his bulky size, half-waddling half-running at a surprising speed with his dinosaurian fellows close behind. They could have engaged anti-graves if they wanted to, but it would drain them the energy they needed to fight off Devastator. Swoop spiralled some a hundred metres above them, metal wings outstretched to catch the warm air, utilizing fully the thermals created by the sun-heated Earth surfaces to soar like a colourful eagle. Optimus Prime followed the Pterosaur's guidance as he drove on, relying on his long-ranged optics to detect possible ambushes.

::Swoop see no Decepticons;:: the flying dino-former informed the Autobot Commander through the comm. link periodically.

::Good job, but continue keep an optic out for them,:: the truck acknowledged. In the confines of his own processors, though, he silently thought, _Not an assurance that the Decepticons are not nearby._ He had learned from many past events how sneaky they could be.

Not a klik passed since Optimus thought this when an angry shriek sounded from above. Optimus's scanner changed direction and swept the sky for the source of Swoop's vocalization. He detected the Pterosaur immediately but his flight had suddenly become erratic as if disturbed by turbulent wind. Other Dinobots echoed his rage with roars of their own, the sounds so loud that they vibrated the Earth.

::Flying Decepticons attacked Swoop!:: The mecha-dinosaur snarled his report through the comm. link – his anger at being overtaken in his own element was fanned greatly that he lost control of his manners when communicating with the Prime.

Optimus's CPU processed the feedbacks lightning-fast; the attackers must be Seekers since only they were fast enough in flight to strike and flee in such short astroseconds that his scanner missed their presences.

::Can you identify them?::

::Swoop not know, but Swoop saw purple and blue jets.::

_Thundercracker and Skywarp_, the Matrix-bearer concluded. Though there were Coneheads with similar colour scheme, only the Seekers of the Command Trine possessed sufficient skills to harass an airborne target with precision such as shown.

"Prahm, look out!"

Optimus Prime saw them even as Ironhide issued his warning; two F-15s, one was painted with white-blue paintworks and the other black-purple, dove at an angle in front of the truck. Two missiles detached from each jet's wings and the jets shot up, nosecones almost vertical as they gained altitude. The Autobot leader swerved sharply to his left. One of the missiles missed him by a mere metre. The others exploded in the midst of the Autobot convoy, splitting the formation.

Swoop abandoned his leisurely soaring and ignited his afterburners to their fullest and rocketed skywards almost instantaneously in pursuit of the F-15s.

::Swoop, can you handle the Seekers on your own?:: Normally, he would have left the Seekers for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe to confront, but they had lost the element of surprise that their jet-judo technique required to work. In their current situation, Swoop had the best chance among the Autobots to overpower the jets.

::Swoop strong. Swoop can defeat Seekers alone.:: He answered whilst continuing to ascend the sky with speed matching to that of the Seekers'. He was out of optic range in just two astroseconds.

"Autobots, accelerate!" Optimus shouted over the vanishing roars of Swoop's thrusters. The Autobots regrouped and picked up speed immediately. Optimus Prime's navigation system pinpointed the location of the dam to be five miles away. Already the sounds of rushing water echoed in his audios, informing him that they were nearing the river with the targeted dam. Over the horizon, he could see smokes billowing up from behind .

The red truck fasten his pace even more; if there were smokes, there were likely to be Decepticons there too. Since Optimus received no emergency call from the humans, he guessed that their communication was down too which meant they were pretty much on their own right now. The priority for the Autobots to reach them suddenly escalated sky-high.

The dam came into view, and with it, the Decepticons. Soundwave and his cassette-minions were at the entrance, gun at the ready to shoot any adversaries within range. Optimus did not detect Rumble, though, and figured that the humanoid cassette was somewhere underwater since the river churned madly that it did not seem natural; it was Megatron's way to hype things up and forced rivers to create tsunami-like waves when raiding dams such as this so that the energy output would be maximum. What happened to the dams was not his concern, and sometimes they crumbled under the tremendous forces of the waters hitting its walls. It was such disaster that the Autobots hoped to prevent from happening this time because burst dams meant not only property damage – other humans living downriver would be swept by the overflow and has a chance of next to nothing to survive.

"Autobots, transform and attack! Dinobots, provide cover, but engage Devastator immediately if he comes!" Optimus issued. The next instant, twelve robots emerged from the unfolding metals of the vehicles. Guns were extracted from their sub-spaces and the Autobots open fires immediately. Grounds exploded where the lasers hit, sending chunks of rocks flying around like mere dust. The Dinobots remained untransformed since they were at their optimum battle conditions in such forms and joined in the struggles. Yellow lasers and flame-tongues issued from them, effectively ruining the Coneheads' formation which happened to fly overhead.

Off to the other side, Soundwave lifted the arm-long gun held all this while in his servos and took aim. The silver weapon shone under the sunlight – and Optimus realized the possible destruction it carried within the barrels.

"Duck!" He warned just in time before purple laser streak streamed out of the gun-mouth. Thankfully, it did not hit any of his soldiers who avoided it upon their leader's shout, but the resulting explosion tossed the few nearby like a mere metal sheets.

More laser streaks were fired at them but they were more prepared this time. Their advance was slow but sure, sprinting towards Soundwave and ducking for cover occasionally when the gun was directed towards them. At his side, Frenzy shot with randomness, having no time to properly aim and hope that he would hit the Autobots with luck. Ravage bounded around Soundwave while unleashing his flank-missiles with more accuracy than Frenzy did, taking down Gears and Smokescreen with his weapons. Laserbeak swooped amidst the chaos to let loose distractive laser shots but was quickly thwarted by Bluestreak's missiles – the Datsun gunner might be young, but he was Pit of a sniper, able to take down a flying object with ease.

Optimus Prime was the first to get within shooting range and fired a blast as Soundwave's servos. He hit his aim and the Decepticon staggered backwards. The silver gun fell – or rather, _leapt _out – of his servo just before it was ruined by Optimus's laser-fire. At this distance, the Autobot Commander could clearly see the gun's design to be Walther P38, and, with a little zooming in, the Decepticon brand at the side.

The silver gun's form unfolded with mechanical creaks – arms appeared and the handle separated in the middle to become a pair of legs. The barrel shifted position. A black Fusion Cannon was attached to the right lower arm-section. A helmeted head appeared from the gaps in the metals, a head adorned with piercing red optics and tightly-clamped mouth. Sharp lines running down the side of the angular faceplates were the final defining touch of the mech transforming from the gun. It was undeniably, inarguably Megatron, the Commander of Decepticon himself.

The Fusion Cannon's barrel erupted out a thick laser beam; it missed Optimus Prime by a few Cybertronian inches, who rolled sideways to avoid utter destruction by the Cannon.

"Like my welcoming 'gift', Prime?" the silver gun-former bellowed from his standing point; his Fusion Cannon was never lowered and he loosened more Fusion blasts from his primary weapon.

Optimus Prime was used with their pre-battle banters by now – he had fought Megatron for nine million stellar cycles, give or take a few vorns. His ego did not waver at all all these while and his boasting had become a must every time they clashed. Well, he had his answer too to give.

"You have to do better than that, Megatron!"

The usual taunts, the usual replies, all were ingrained in both leaders' systems. Optimus was half-crawling half-running as he dodged every fire put in his way, unleashing his own laser beams in the process. Megatron and Optimus Prime were engaged in their deadly battles by now, personal and uninterruptable. At this stage, their factions were on their own – Optimus Prime could not afford to spare his attention elsewhere when faced with his greatest, most ruthless nemesis, and neither could Megatron. They were almost matching in their battle prowess that stalemate was sometimes unavoidable – and stalemate was a result neither of them desired.

Laser shots were traded relentlessly between the Supreme Commanders, orange and purple streaks clashing with each other with neither hitting the source of the other. Optimus remained unscathed throughout the time, and so did Megatron. The Autobot leader vented out a regretful sigh; no matter how developed their technologies were, it always came down to brute strength with Megatron. Gladiatorial battles were the medium in which the winner would be decided.

Optimus Prime made a run for it – a lucky blast singed the side of his armours, but it was negligible. Megatron stepped backwards as their distance shortened, but it was too late. The truck-former lounged with all the force he could muster and grabbed the silver mech's shoulder-plates as he fell back, bringing Megatron along. At such close range the huge Fusion Cannon was more of a hindrance rather than a bonus so Megatron abandoned attempts to fire at the Prime and resorted to brawn instead. Optimus caught Megatron's balled servo before it could smash his faceplates – masked or not, the Prime rather have the fist far from his head. In return, he shot his fist into Megatron's mid-riff, crushing the grilles and forcing out a roar from the tyrant's vocalizer.

Optimus's turn for pain came not long afterwards – he groaned as the silver pede kicked at the knee-joints, right where his thigh met his lower leg-section. Optimus grabbed at Megatron's flank with one servo in response to keep the silver mech firmly pinned beneath him, and reached for the helm with the other. Megatron's growl was muffled as his head was spun halfway around and pushed into the ground. He bucked vigorously under the Prime and the sheer strength of it unsaddled Optimus from Megatron's back, throwing him a few Cybertronian feet away.

Optimus Prime did not succumb to the shock of being thrown off; instead, he pushed himself to his pedes as fast as he could. When he stood, he saw that his Decepticon foe was already up, legs spread slightly in battle-stance. An energy Morningstar had been transformed from his left servo, flailing wildly with the movements of his arm. The Decepticon Commander was ready for a true gladiatorial fight now. In answer, Optimus Prime lowered his body in preparation for attacks, his right servo converted to an orange-glowing energy battleaxe. They locked optics for an astrosecond before charging forward, arms raised to inflict the worst damages to the other.

The battleaxe and Morningstar met with a loud clang as if they were made of metals, a proof of their solidity. Sparks erupted from the point of contact, accompanied by the familiar sizzles as the weapons grinded against one another when their owners retreated for another attack. Optimus Prime and Megatron danced and whirled around as the battles continued with increasing fury, weapons biting into each other with louder clangs and brighter sparks, separating with sharper sizzles. They charged again, and again and again, neither gaining the upper servo even as their chasses were drained of energy from the taxing battles.

Suddenly, a loud roar sounded from somewhere to Optimus's left – the momentary distraction caused him to be hit square in the chest-piece by the Morningstar. He stumbled backwards a few steps and fell on his knees - the windshields mounted on his front were cracked from the force, but they were salvageable. He managed a sideway-glance and caught sight of a gigantic lime-purple mech marching among the smaller forms of the Autobots: Devastator. Praying that the Dinobots were somewhere nearby, Optimus Prime reverted his attention back to the immediate threat in the form of silver mech with a purple energy Morningstar before him, ready to deliver the final blows.

He avoided the Morningstar with a roll to the side – the weapon struck the ground just beside him cleanly. Optimus kicked hard at the knee-joints, causing Megatron to buckle and fell onto his knees with a desperate groan.

"You've lost your touch, Megatron!" Optimus bellowed while giving him another kick, this time right to his red-plated flank with enough force to dent the metals. Megatron's groan lengthened with the added pain. "Looks like you are nothing without Starscream to boost your megalomania!"

Megatron's roar was surprising even to Optimus, who was by this time had come to be familiar with his enemy's reaction – he might have interpreted it wrong, but the voice that escaped from the tyrant's vocalizer hinted not just the usual irritation at the taunts. No, Megatron had sounded as if he was..._pained _by the random comment.

"Slag you, Prime!" The Decepticon Commander bellowed. This time, anger was clearly etched in his tone, but the sound of his inner suffering, if suffering he was truly experiencing, did not leave his voice. With an expert flick of his wrist he fended off Optimus's assault and swung the arm away. "Slag you!"

"Surrender, Megatron!" Optimus demanded while planting a fist into Megatron's spinal strut with his empty servo even as his axe-arm swung away from the target, using the remaining momentum from his previous charge to fuel this minor attack.

The warlord groaned again but his chassis responded as if feeling no pain. The silver frame rose, yanking the Morningstar out of the Earth with a powerful pull. It swung in a high arc and would have struck Optimus's helm had he did not bend just in time.

"Never!" Megatron roared angrily. It was an answer Optimus had come to expect to a question Megatron had come to anticipate.

In the midst of their blow-trading, the lights at either side of Megatron's chest-piece flickered rapidly. Megatron's grim smile grew as they did like he was hearing to some silent voice whispering words that were pleasing into his audios, a voice that Optimus Prime could not hear himself.

"Until next time, Prime," he growled with wicked amusement and delivered a heavy blow with his fist right under Optimus's chin, an unexpected move since he had a more effective weapon with him. Distracted by the shock and pain, the silver gun-former took the opportunity to ram the Prime bodily and threw him aside.

When Optimus regained his footing, Megatron had already taken to the sky at high speed, his usual order of "Decepticons, retreat!" audible clearly amidst the maniacal laughter trailing in his wake. For an astrosecond, Optimus Prime wondered what could be the source of his amusement until he focused his vision in the dam's direction; Laserbeak, Rumble, Frenzy, Reflector-gestalts, several jet-mode Coneheads and Soundwave were airborne and were speeding away, undoubtedly with their sub-spaces full with energon cubes.

The Decepticon's attacks were successful.

"This is not over yet, Megatron!" Optimus shouted to the enemy-leader's retreating form – no matter how composed Optimus Prime was, his foe's success at destruction angered him, not because it meant defeat to the Autobots. Rather, it was because more often than not, it spelled disaster to innocent lives that happened to be in Megatron's path.

Faintly, he could hear the Dinobots' pained roars; turning around, the Matrix-bearer saw that Devastator, badly damaged himself, was unleashing a final blast right in the middle of the attacking mecha-dinosaurs with his laser gun. Scattered, it provided the Constructicon-formed mech to flee in Megatron's wake, obviously aware at his leader's sound of retreat. His anti-graves kicked to full functionality to lift the merger's massive mass off the Earth, blowing huge clouds of dust in all directions as he did. Despite his immensity, Devastator's flight was stable and his speed just as amazing, slower than the lighter jet-formers for sure, but still not very much slower than Megatron's or any average-sized mech's.

"Optimus, the dam!"

Jazz's shout altered the Prime's attention to said building – and to his horror, the wall were cracked so badly to the point it was ready to crumble in any nanoklik now. Fountains of water shot out from faults in the dam's structure, further weakening it. The Prime's disappointment at Megatron's escape vanished instantly to be replaced by fear; there were human settlements downriver. If the dam's collected water was unleashed, the humans there would drown.

"Trailbreaker, ready your force-field in case the dam fails! Ratchet, Wheeljack, repair the walls! Gears, Bumblebee, evacuate the dam immediately! Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, head downriver and help the humans if the water burst out! The rest of you, STAY AWAY!"

Upon receiving their instructions, the Autobots moved to their places at once; the mechs who were not designated any task did as was told also, keeping clear away from the dam – water did not bother them much like it did Earth-machineries, but water at this scale was destructive in so many ways, they could be very well permanently deactivated because of it; To a degree, their circuits were impervious to water, but with enough force it could still penetrate the protective layer. They were also helpless under the immense rush of water coming out from the dam if the walls broke, and besides, there was no telling if they would survive being tumbled in the water-cyclones, or that they were not thrown into rocks and the likes. Ratchet, with Jazz's help, was lowered down by the Porsche's grappling hook to reach the damages at the upper half of the dam walls. Wheeljack, with his limited flight capability, managed the lower cracks and holes where Ratchet could not reach. Trailbreaker was prepared at the side of the river to deploy his force field which would buy Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Bluestreak extra time to evacuate the resident humans should the water overcame the dam's restraints.

Thankfully, the dam resisted long enough for the repairs to commence. At the end, with the combined efforts of the Autobots, the dam walls and its surrounding structures were as good as new and fully functional. There was zero loss of lives either at the dam or at the human settlements, as Bumblebee, Gears, Bluestreak and the Lamborghinis had reported. Swoop returned not long after, saying that he had held the two Seeker-jets at bay as long as he could and letting them leave only when he realized that the rest of the Decepticons did so too. For that, it was reason enough for the Prime's intakes to vent out in relief.

_This isn't a victory...but at least we don't have to mourn, either, _Optimus Prime thought in silence. Out loud, he said, "Autobots, we are done here. Dinobots, I thank you for the support you've shown. We would have lost to the Devastator before we can even fight if it's not for you."

"Grimlock happy to fight Decepticons! Dinobots happy to fight with Prime!" the metal T-Rex responded with glee, obviously still hyped up from their encounters with Devastator. Unlike the other Autobots should they engage Devastator on their own, the Dinobots were merely scratched and dirtied from their fights, sustaining only minimal injuries that their self-repair systems could handle without Ratchet's helps. Swoop, fighting two Seekers at once, was completely unmarred from the clash. They were hardy lots; there was no argument to that.

"Let's head back to base, then. Transform and roll out!"

Optimus was the last to transform, waiting for his soldiers to complete their sequences before commencing alteration of his own. Once he was a truck, he drove off with the Autobots gradually falling into their respective places as they moved. The Dinobots were at the rear, though their cover was no longer needed – they simply preferred their places there.

The tumults of the Autobots' engines faded from the dam's area as the robot-vehicles left the place. The day had been a long one, with them leaving at morning but were held in battles and the consequent dam-repairing for at least another 5 joors. The battle was over, and the Ark was waiting for their return. Behind, the sun began to set in the Western horizon, promising a night to come and a tomorrow to follow after.

In the med-bay of the Ark, Perceptor startled as he heard the rustles of moving metals; he whirled around almost impossibly past, a sign of his incredible focus despite the normally dreamy expression he wore on his faceplates. He _thought _that he had heard them coming from Starscream's direction...but it was impossible. The Seeker was in forced recharge, there was no doubt of that, the universal override codes had ensured that he stayed so. Maybe it was a straying rat scurrying around in the ceiling...? The Earth organic-vermin was known to have infiltrated the Ark in the past; such was perhaps the case this time.

Contenting himself that nothing was amiss, Perceptor returned back to his complex calculations he was doing before he was interrupted. His optics was re-locked on the collection of Cybertronian numerals covering the datapad he had been holding for the past joor. In doing so, though, the microscope-former missed the sudden spikes in Starscream's readouts on his CPU activity displayed on the screen of the monitoring machine placed at the berth-side table. Starscream was, as expected, still in forced recharge...but not for long.

The universal override codes wavered under Starscream's assaults to counter it – and Perceptor had no idea whatsoever of this hidden battle.

_**XxXxXx**_

Sunset on Earth was a beautiful thing to behold, a strikingly similar vista which had once graced the dusks of Cybertron. Gold was dominant in the evening heaven, but here and there soft purples added hues to the darkening sky – where the two colours met, an even softer shade of pink emerged to create an almost peaceful mood...had there were no streaks of points tearing the sky with both their inharmonious colourations and the sounds they generated.

If anybody nearby had noticed the disruptions in the balanced hues of the dusk-sky, and had at his disposal the power of telescopic magnification, the points would actually appear to him as huge robotic figures, moving in perfect tandem with one another to keep their triangular formations, cruising the air with means yet to be achieved by Earthly technologies. Exhaust-borne flames were nowhere to be seen as proof of regular engine propulsion save from the few colourful jets present within the groups – noticeable among them were two F-15s, elaborately painted, each separate parts displaying bits of purple, blue, white and black. They flew nosecone-to-nosecone with each other near the leading point of the flying triangle, emphasizing their high rank. In addition to this, a group of mechs with similar-looking specs and colour schemes of lime and purple, six in total, flew at the rear of the crew, their structures marking them as gestalts of a larger merger. Few knew their personal designations, but the purple brands they each wore on various parts of their armours were known and feared by all Earth populations.

Decepticon's ruthlessness did not go unnoticed after the many attempts of the mechanoid army to annihilate the planet they were currently residing upon themselves.

Even the most backwater humans would have recognized the silver mech leading the crew. With his infamous Fusion Cannon attached almost permanently to his arm, Megatron struck as an imposing figure even without his main weapon – with it, he appeared to be the personalization of destruction himself. While silver gleams of his armours might attract attentions, the blood-red optics peeking out from under the gladiator-styled helmet were certainly NOT inviting. Further keeping others away from him was the huge gun-barrel that rose from behind his back, a metallic tower that silently threatened Megatron's enemies from drawing any nearer.

However, the passing of this unusual crew remained unobserved since it had taken place in the middle of Atlantic Ocean. No human-made watercrafts dared to pass here for the Earthlings were well aware of the presence of the Decepticon's space cruiser beneath its rolling waves. Only foolhardy sailors would brave these dangerous waters at the risks of being mere playthings of the Decepticons – a fate that would be even worse than simple death. The Decepticon party circled the area twice as they waited for the raising of one of Nemesis's tower. It did so in just a few astroseconds, breaking the surface of water and the rhythmic ripples of the natural waves with disturbances of its own. The landing dock was open and ready to receive Megatron and his soldiers, who flew inside through the narrow opening without collision, a mark of their flying ace. The Constructicons entered last – they had paused just before traversing the seas to reach Nemesis to split off into their separate components. In their merged form as Devastator, the sheer size of them combined altogether made it impossible to fit through the entrance.

Megatron rode the turbolift to the lower deck along with Soundwave and the Seekers. The space was admittedly crowded but Megatron's processors were far too busy processing thoughts to complain, or perhaps even notice, the discomfort the lack of room sprouted. Though he was unaware of it, he had the same opinions regarding the battle today; it was a victory in some sense, but it was neither something to be celebrated upon, either. Optimus Prime was still functioning, his rag-tag band of civilian-turned soldiers was still up and running...and Cybertron was still a dead planet. He was not present when the loading of energon cubes happened, but Laserbeak had reported that little was lost and many were salvaged before the Autobots could destroy their efforts. He had to wait for Soundwave's reports for the deeper details.

Only when they were out of the lift did Megatron realized that the Seekers were unusually quiet – usually, when the members of his Command Trine were put together in one place, they would bicker and bicker until he thought his CPU would crash out of annoyance. Megatron did not blame them from acting out of normality, though – in recruiting the Seekers into his army, he had also inescapably learned something of them, such as how the trineleader being the core of this military-based tie. Starscream's absence was analogous to Megatron losing his Fusion Cannon; the Seekers' performance in dogfights today was proof enough of that. Unable to take Swoop even though the he was alone against Thundrecracker and Skywarp, usually the Pterosaur would at least get scratched or clipped wings if Starscream led his trine into battles.

"Soundwave, prepare reports on today's battles. I have business with Cybertron that needs attending to," Megatron commanded his deputy-SIC – a command that have been voiced out so many times it was almost unnecessary, spoken out only because it was a routine he could not easily leave.

Soundwave's _as you command, Lord Megatron_ could have as well be meaningless babbles to the Decepticon overlord with processors-drift already creeping into his CPU. It seemed that it did unhealthily often these past orns...ever since Starscream was lost to him.

Indeed, when his data banks were rummaged, Megatron recalled the considerable burden that had been lifted off his shoulder-plates upon accepting the colourful Seeker into his ranks, and not long after, as his Second-In-Command. His proficiency surprised even the Decepticon Leader, who watched in awed silence how the Seekers under Starscream's command levelled the city of Praxus in a matter of joors as the first test to be promoted as the Air Commander. Not a survivor found which was not destroyed – of those who managed to flee, they hunted down to the best of their abilities, which proved rather astounding. Mechs and femmes screamed as their Sparks were extinguished, Sparklings wailed for the loss of their Creators, and buildings were reduced to insignificant ashes in blistering heat of explosions. Very deep down in his Spark, what small amount of remorse in store was summoned by Megatron at the city's destruction, but it was a destruction by necessity; Praxus was no longer salvageable with its residents offering unwavering supports to the Autobot's cause. Megatron's coldly practical reasoning as a gladiator had caused him to act with mercilessness that none could really understand – such as his perception that to restore Cybertron to its former glory, the most effective way to do so was through utter domination and complete annihilation of those who opposed his notions. Peace was kept through tyranny, and not fickle democracy; He could not understand why he needed to hear the distractive opinions of others when his alone would be sufficient to run Cybertron.

Megatron was unaware when he had reached his destination until the sliding door of the Command Centre hissed open to allow his passage, as besotted as he was with his private thoughts. No mech was in there – a source for Megatron's irritation; somebody had left their shift early, it seemed, programming the rise of the landing tower at the time when Megatron's raiding party was expected to return. That, or maybe whoever that was responsible just make a dash for it when he detected Megatron's summon and went back to whatever he was doing after activating the tower. Whichever one, both options were still wrong. Megatron made a mental note to himself to have Soundwave checked the identity of the mech in question later and have him punished most severely for his lack of dedication. At that thought, Megatron's grin unconsciously appeared on his mouth components – unpredictable though he might be, the one thing all Cybertronians and Earthlings should have been aware of was his masochistic tendencies. Causing pain was what he was fond of – after all, the title of 'Tyrant of the Universe' was not haphazardly given to him. Agonized screams of his victims were music to his audios, a twisted source for enjoyment. Furthermore, with more and more unrestrained his anger had became since he lost his Starscream, the more he needed 'entertainment' to balance it out.

The main console was empty of mechs as he had noticed earlier, and the huge monitor mounted on the wall behind it was in dormancy. Megatron walked towards it and pushed the activation button upon the console. The monitor flickered with statics, but nothing else. His segmented digits danced on the vast keyboards with precision borne from millennia of repeating the same movements, pressing here and there without a nanoklik's hesitation. For all he looked right now, a human could have called him computer geek from the speed in which he typed his orders to be prosecuted to Nemesis's computer systems – that was, if any human was present and was stupid enough to call him that in the face of sure, painful death. Statics continued to crack on the monitor, but Megatron knew that he had achieved what he had intended.

Pressing yet another button, he held it down and his powerful voice boomed:

"Shockwave, acknowledge!"

The monitor resumed flickering for a few more astroseconds – a short period of time but enough to have impatience gnawing in Megatron's circuits – before a particular view began to focus into clarity. The gloomy interior of a Cybertronian building materialized among the streaks of statics lancing the screen – the interior of Dark Mount fortress, the Decepticon's stronghold on Cybertron. More important than that, though, was the figure that stood in front of the screen at the other side of the line, filling almost the whole view.

"Hail, Lord Megatron."

It was Shockwave, the Decepticon's Military Operations Commander, guardian of Cybertron and Megatron's most trusted lieutenant.

In appearance, Shockwave probably has the most intriguing physiques of all Cybertronians that have ever been assembled. True, he had a pair of stabilizing servo – pedes, as were normally called of them, two arms and a head, all of which made him roughly humanoid in shape, but that were all. His left arm, where most mechs would have their own ended with fingered servos, Shockwave had instead a laser cannon there. Antennas adorned each side of his head which was shaped roughly like diamond and was rather featureless save for a single yellow bulb that glowed each time he spoke. He had absolutely no lip components and no nasal structures – even if he _did _have them, they were hopelessly invisible. A reactor located at his chest-piece gave him a slight illusion of having a muscular torso; within it was housed radioactive fuel source to counter his fuel inefficiency in return of commanding the totality of electromagnetic spectrums, a destructive advantage in wars. His colour scheme was of limited shades of purple, fitting for a Decepticon officer. Shockwave was the few Decepticons of whom Megatron put his confidence in for the mech's loyalty to his leader was an enigma – that, and the fact he was likely the most logic-based Cybertronian Megatron had and would ever encounter, including Megatron himself, making him brutally efficient for his position.

Usually, Megatron would have been flattered by Shockwave's call of _Lord_ prior to his name, knowing that his logic made the uttering of the title sincere. This time, however, he felt absolutely nothing. His massive ego remained deflated; his pleasure elusive. Schooling stoicism upon his faceplates, he bluntly replied:

"Shockwave, is the Space Bridge ready for opening?"

Space Bridge. A technology that was solely Decepticon's, an advantage Megatron had over his enemies. It enabled him to transport energon cubes for the revitalizing of Cybertron in just a few astroseconds and with lower percentages of failure compared to manual delivery via space shuttles. At times of great desperation, Megatron had even used it to recruit his remaining soldiers on Cybertron to swell his dwindling Earth forces, but such things were very rarely done, looking at the fact that the army on the Cybertronians' native planet was not very numerous either. Cybertron still needed defending from the few Autobot guerrillas that still terrorized the planet's surface, waiting just for the right moments to strike back. So far, Shockwave and what Decepticon soldiers still guarding the planet managed to hold back the offenders, but if Megatron kept demanding for reinforcements, the table would be likely to turn. The Decepticon Supreme Commander was aware of the fact and the delicate situation it presented – he had to be careful in juggling the fire.

For all the conveniences a Space Bridge offered, it still had its drawbacks. It drained a massive amount of energy in setting it up, and since Earth had no specialized site to receive the other end from Cybertron, the location kept changing every time Shockwave initiated its passage. In turn, Megatron and the Decepticons on Earth had to keep track where the Space Bridge would open and constructed a crude structure to contain the dimensional opening from tearing the space-time fabric further than intended prior to its initiation from Cybertron. This information was supplied by Shockwave – and it was such information Megatron now needed to know if the energon cubes were to be sent to his home planet.

"Ready and waiting for your command, Lord Megatron. The energy store at Cybertron is still enough to fuel one more opening of the Space Bridge."

Shockwave's manner of speaking, though he had never set a pede on Earth, hinted that of British accent; it was deep yet smooth, each uttered word was clear to its very syllable. Shockwave's voice by itself was rather gentleman-sounding which was purely accidental – he was Sparked with his vocalizer readily tuned to that frequency and had no intention of modifying it. At the very least, it served as verbal masks, luring his unsuspecting victims into carelessness by the calming power his voice carried before Shockwave was ready to strike. Indeed, at times before he was promoted as the Military Operations Commander, he was Megatron's favourite spy whose bidding he never failed to carry out. In some sense, humans would have viewed him as the mechanical version of the fictional James Bond character – minus the shaken martini, the beautiful ladies and his preferences to succumb to lust every time the latter were in sight.

"Excellent, Shockwave. When and where the Space Bridge is expected to appear?" _One more opening of the Space Bridge_, Megatron pondered to himself. Which meant that he had only one shot to successfully transport the energon cubes. If the Autobots happen to know about this – which they seemed to never fail to not know – and manage to thwart his efforts...then he would be forced to send someone quite disposable to send those hard-earned energon cubes by a space shuttle. It would be a lengthier, riskier and more difficult process. He certainly did not want to use the latter option.

"In fifty-eight thousand astroseconds at these coordinates..."

The screen flickered once more; the image of Shockwave blurred and was instantly replaced by scenery that was closer to Megatron – one that came from Earth. It was a view of a lush green forest broken here and there by stony outcroppings. At the centre was a clearing just large enough to fit a simple Space Bridge Ring, as the structure which contained it was named. The ground was mostly rocky but at some parts was finely sprinkled by grainy sand.

The screen flickered again and Shockwave rematerialized upon the screen. Megatron nodded as an acknowledgement that he received and understood the information conveyed and spoke:

"I will be ready there to receive the Space Bridge. Soundwave will have details for the delivery sent to you later. Megatron out. "

The silver mech usually wait for yet flattering words from Shockwave as the closure to their conversations, but he did not even bother with them this time. He pressed on another key and the monitor crackled for a brief while; the image of Shockwave fuzzed out, then blackened completely when the monitor went offline. Although appearing as strong as ever in battles today, he was, in fact, under-fuelled from the lack of energon cubes to consume.

As the Decepticon Supreme Commander, Megatron had had his perks in leadership in times of lacking – he had the lion's share in the consumption of energon cubes, but even that was not quite enough. He was far from some overly-pampered Tower mechs, but his gladiatorial schematics meant that his fuel systems processed energon at rates slightly higher than average mechs – after all, strength did not come without its cost. Right now, he was functioning on an average of 42% energy level, far from his optimum working level, but he had to make do. His troops needed their shares of energon if their raid was to come to success. The side-effects of the energy-lacking was evident when he noticed how his joints felt heavy, as if resisting movements he intended; his CPU was sluggish and processing feedbacks at such slowness that an enemy mech could have threw a punch at him and he would be unable to avoid it; his sensory perceptions were also dull and inaccurate.

Venting out an exasperated sigh at his weakness – though understandable as it was – Megatron left the Command Centre without a glance backwards, noticing how his pedes were less-striding-more-shuffling. He was forced to a point of which he needed to grab onto whatever support was in reach when he occasionally stumbled upon returning to his chambers. Megatron had to try three times before he could punch the right passwords on the console for the door to open, cursing his failure to focus on what he was doing. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bother with such fickle security measures like the passwords when he was quite sure that no Decepticon would dare to enter his private spaces without his permission...until he was reminded that there was no guarantee of that. Tyrants like him inevitably garnered a massive crowd of haters in their conquests – though Nemesis was now underwater and there was little chance for the Autobots to be able to infiltrate it, there remained the risks of his own soldiers with festering hatred for him...waiting for an opening to have their revenges. Soldiers whose hatred was strong enough to desire his permanent deactivation or, at the very least, his throne.

Soldiers like Starscream.

The sudden pang that assaulted his Spark was shockingly painful to the Decepticon Supreme Commander; always the thoughts concerning the Seeker affected him in ways he could not perceive. Any leader would not want to lose a good underling, that part Megatron well understood since Starscream was exceptional as a warrior, but the longing he felt was something he was not accustomed to. The pain came again and again, each time with new intensity that he always failed to get used to. Every single time...

Megatron's chamber echoed with the sound of his vents huffing out hot air – uneasiness could cause his systems to overheat as easily as anger would. The mech reached into his sub-space and produced two energon cubes from within – the last ones he had in his personal supply. Now that he had replenished the supplies of energon for his troops, he could get done with these old stock and get himself new ones later. He chose the bigger of the two cubes first and tilted one edge towards his opened mouth components. The purple fluid – looking sometimes liquid and sometimes gaseous, flowed into his oral cavity and straight down the main intake tube where it would end up processed in his fuel tank into readily usable energy. That done, he finished the other cube in a shorter time, threw the empty container aside and laid himself upon the berth in preparation for a recharge. He was already halfway into offline mode when his CPU suddenly gave a faint buzz, as if –

**I need to escape...**

The Decepticon leader's optics, which had already been dimmed, shone suddenly bright with red glow. It was Starscream's voice, ghostly and almost inaudible. The memory drive hummed and throbbed, but the familiarity in using it enabled Megatron to recognize that Starscream, the mech who voiced the pitiful thought, was still inactive. The warlord had received similar feedbacks ever since last night; every time he did, he tried to connect to the other's meta-processors. He was doing just that right now.

He failed. Every single time he tried, he failed miserably. It was a teasing hope, a disappointing hope...a useless hope.

_Starscream...give me more than this excuse of your presence. Stop this torture at once!_

Megatron's CPU screamed inwardly; he was not used to have his desires unfulfilled. The dissatisfaction ate at him like some infectious vermin, only that this 'vermin' destroyed not his physical armours but rather his very programming.

Somehow, Megatron had begun to develop hatred for his artificial telepathy. The anonymity of the feedbacks annoyed him until his anger became uncontainable, which was then released on innocent someone who had the misfortune to be nearby. With time, it seemed, when the memory drive adapted more and more to his systems, the link became a somewhat two-way connection in which, under extreme emotional responses, Starscream's meta-processors were granted access to activate the memory drive and download Starscream's data without Megatron's permission first. If this was what Soundwave hat to put up all the time – to have other's emotions and thoughts penetrating his mind – he would rather NOT have it at all.

**The Autobots – they're everywhere!**

_Of course they're everywhere, you fool! You've been captured!_

Megatron thought in irritation – Starscream's CPU conjured up fictional experiences that were never was, but there were also painful pasts. This time, the Seeker's nightmare had taken the forms of his last views before he blacked out. Starscream's phantom fear was infectious, affecting Megatron and causing the warlord to seethe with anger; he hated feeling scared, even if it was not his own.

**Leave me alone!**

_Leave ME alone!_

Megatron echoed the nightmare-born scream in his processors as frustration overwhelmed him. He was helpless in this regard, an outsider who was forced to hear snippets of Starscream's condition without any guarantee of its truthfulness. He hoped that the flyer would wake up soon enough and spare him the need to hear the distracting voice that resonated again and again in his cranial plating. He had enough matters bothering his CPU without Starscream to add more to the burden! However, no matter how strong his determination, no matter how intense his wishing, there was no way for him to made his thoughts known to the far-away Seeker, for the memory drive permitted only downloading from Starscream, and not the other way round.

Megatron's CPU stalled for an astrosecond; now where did THAT notion came from? Why in the Pit would he want sharing his innermost voice with Starscream, the least trustworthy of his subordinates in the whole Decepticon army?

**You...you all will pay for putting me into this...**

_Finally...it's over._

The hints of echo at the end of this latest thought marked the end of Starscream's nightmare – and Megatron's annoyance – as the Decepticon overlord had discovered with his previous experiences. In some weird way, he was a little disappointed to be cut off from the only link he had to the captured Seeker, but to maintain it was not worth the trouble.

With a grunt, the Decepticon Commander allowed himself to slip into offline mode and powered down his optics. Now, he could finally initiate recharge cycle and allowed his body to activate the self-repair systems to heal the wounds he earned from his clash with Prime. In a few astroseconds, his processors were no longer aware of the world outside his chassis.

Megatron's recharge was far from relaxing that night.

_**xxxxx**_

_He was falling...falling...falling..._

_ A thousand feet below, the Earth waited to receive his fall. Flight was denied of him because his thrusters and wings were rendered useless by damages. Starscream lived up to his name and screamed his tank dry, but his voice was lost to the roars of wind rushing past his damaged chassis. No one could hear him in such circumstances even if there was someone beside him, but he was alone right now._

_ Alone in his last astroseconds before his permanent deactivation._

_ Where was Skywarp? Where was Thundercracker? Where were the flyers who were supposed to be under his command? Where were the other Decepticons who fought under the same banner as he? _

_ Where was his leader, Megatron?_

_Far down below, colourful points materialized out of nowhere – and those pints moved to converge around a small area, forming a circle directly below him where he was expected to crash-land. Coolant sweats seeped out from seams in his armours and trailed past him as the wind wiped them into streaks. Fear gripped Starscream's Spark when he realized the reason the points moved – because they were robots. _

_Not just any robots, though; the variants in their colour schemes informed him that they were Autobots, the enemies he had battled for millions of stellar cycles and still was. The red dot amongst its rainbow companions, accompanied by a short grey line behind it confirmed his guess – it was a red truck-head, attached at the hind with a dull-hued container. _

_It was Optimus Prime._

_Starscream's shriek was renewed in synch with his increased terror. Even if he did survive this disastrous fall, the Autobots would not let a Decepticon to continue functioning, especially one with such importance in the Decepticon army. Despite Megatron's mistrust, his Supreme Commander still imparted much Decepticon-related information – even the top secret ones – to Starscream, since his seat of power demanded him to be aware of them. And, though he was always at odds with his leader, constantly seeking openings to overthrow him, the Seeker was NOT a traitor to the Decepticon's cause._

_In the last astrometres, the Seeker braced himself for impact – and crashed with an almighty thud. His vocalizer could not even manage a gasp as the impulsive force rippled through his chassis, breaking the yellow cockpit-glass and severing wires by the intense friction his skidding generated. The thinner metals on his face were peeled at one side where it touched the ground. Energon blood flew before one barely-working optic which spewed forth from his ruptured energon lines making up his bundles of neck cables; his other optic lose functionality altogether. Starscream whimpered as he laid there in his own mess, limbs splayed awkwardly and all in wrong angles, awaiting the inevitable. His sensor net was bombarded brutally with pain with intensity of deactivation itself . Already his vision became grainy when his audios perceived approaching pedesteps from everywhere, the unknown mechs stopping just out of reach of his arm – not that he could move any part of his body to begin with._

_A large pair of blue legs moved into his visionary field, the largest he had seen so far. Waves of fear flooded his CPU like the ocean in which Nemesis was fated to lie in, here on Earth; He knew to whom these limbs belonged to, and he would be deactivated by the mech whose strength and bravery upheld him as the only worthy opponent of Megatron. Starscream fought to stay online, to remain strong even to his last intake, but his wounds weaken him with each astrosecond he passed being conscious._

Frag you, Autobots! You...you will all pay for putting me into this...

_Starscream's CPU managed to process angrily, but the rage abated when a face hidden behind an impenetrable battle-mask was lowered before his own. The Seeker stared back only to see what kind of emotions that might be hinted in those blue optics._

_Optimus Prime remained unfathomable; Starscream found himself scared by the lack of emotional clues, but he had no strength left in him to maintain optic-contact. His helm dropped down; Starscream felt himself floated dreamily towards the darkness..._

...and was awakened back to a world full of light in the next instant.

The first thing that the Seeker was aware of was that it was NOT dark anymore; his optics were yet to finish rebooting but the sudden illumination almost blinded him. He was also aware of the uniform hardness supporting his back which showed that he was no longer lying on the rocky ground of his crash-site. There was no pain, most importantly. No lingering numbness, no distracting discomfort, nothing. He felt...normal.

Instinctively, Starscream lifted a servo to shield his optics from the paining lights; the surroundings came into focus as he did this. It took him a few nanokliks before his optics adjusted fully – and gasped. If in falling he had had his fears, the feeling was now at least ten times greater than before upon realizing that there could possibly be nowhere else on Earth where area whose paint was so singular other than Nemesis's and the Autobot's the Ark – and the room he was in – the walls around him, the floors beneath his berth, the roofs above him – was dominated, not by the foreboding purple of the Decepticon's star-cruiser, but rather by the warm hue of ORANGE.

His logic circuit suddenly kicked up in activity; his torso shot up so fast so that it looked as if he was fitted with springs. Starscream's panic level shot through the roof – he hated to admit it, and probably never would out loud, but bravery, though he had some in store in which he would derive when circumstances called for it, was not exactly his strongest point. His Spark was not put into being bold and charging into battles heedless of the dangers – what he did was to remain behind the line or up above in the sky where none save for the winged ones could reach him and waited for the perfect opportunity to strike presented itself, seeking openings when his attacks would cause the worst damage. Because of it, Megatron had put a permanent label of him being cowardly. However, the leader's thought was of no significance to Starscream as long as he could keep himself in one piece and survived for as long as needed be until the throne was his to sit freely upon.

Now, though, right in the heart of the enemies' stronghold, being crafty had no place here. Even the Autobots would be aware of his sneaky ways and would be prepared to face his falsehood. Whatever lies he threw in their faceplates would be detected straight away. It was almost impossible to inject back calmness into his systems, but calmed down he did; only with clear processors could he ever have a hope of escaping. He had to think of a way out fast...

...Wait.

Why did he felt that something was wrong? As if...as if he missed a detail in himself, a detail that was so important in his existence that he should not have been parted with it? It was like – like having a part of him removed from his integral being –

_Oh, no..._

With a trembling servo, he reached out all the way to his back and began to grope around, trying to find that pieces of metals he was so proud of; the simple shapes that gave him the defining characteristic which set him apart from the other Cybertronians in general. His servo swept back and forth, side to side, up and down; no matter how he moved it, his fingertips failed to find the existence of his very _wings._

"What it the Pit...?"

Starscream's shocked curse went unfinished when he realized that he was no longer alone in...whatever room he was in. Though still concealed by the deeper shadows where the overhead lamp above Starscream's berth could not light up, there was no mistaking of the outline in the partial darkness to be that of a mech.

"Starscream?"

An unknown voice – but that didn't matter. What did was that they had done what he would never accept. They had parted him from his beloved wings, and for that, this unfortunate mech would receive the brunt of his anger.

Starscream ignored the many wires still hooked to his systems and charged at the enemy.

_**xxxxx**_

Perceptor's vents huffed out in annoyance. The scratching had returned again, this time with more insistence that the sounds interrupted the microscope's focus. He needed all attentions that he could spare if he hoped to solve his CPU-crashing calculus. That hope was shattered for the time being with Perceptor's focus diverted to the annoying noises every now and then. Finally, the red-and-teal mech set the datapads he had been working with and got up from his seat. The other Autobots were scheduled to be back in a few more breems, and with them, Ratchet. Only the CMO's arrival would relieve him from this more-or-less sentry duty; in the meantime, he could busy himself to visit the unconscious Starscream and perhaps study the Seeker's anatomy. Maybe he could learn something from observations that would benefit the Autobots in the future.

The med-bay was still silent – there was no reason for it to be noisy – as Perceptor made his way carefully through the medical machines located here and there along the way. The scratching persisted and grew louder as he neared his destination...as if it was sourced from where the Seeker was lying –

Perceptor's chassis grown suddenly rigid at the view his optics were receiving. He had been informed that Starscream was still in recharge and Ratchet's universal override codes had ensured that he remained so...but what he was seeing now was totally the opposite. The Decepticon flyer was up and awake, one servo was extended up and bent to reach behind him. The dark faceplates contorted in a very uncharacteristic anger when the owner realized of the non-existence of his wings.

"Starscream?" the microscope blurted out before he could restrain the urge; Starscream's head looked up, straight in his direction. Blood-red optics flared to full intensity upon setting their sights on him. There was murder in them that Perceptor 's fear blossomed when their optics met.

Before his CPU could process it, Starscream was no longer sitting on the operation berth; aided by the lack of mass his Seeker frame granted, the Seeker lounged for the microscope. Perceptor was not ready for such drastic move and failed to avoid the Seeker's extended servos, which caught him on the tube of his shoulder-mounted microscope. Starscream's momentum carried both mechs backwards, where the two lay sprawled on the floor with Starscream on top, his blue digits frantically searching for weak spots in Perceptor's armour while the slender legs displayed unexpected strength in managing to keep the Autobot floored by digging the knee-joints into his back-strut.

Perceptor tried to retaliate but Starscream, for all his lightweight chassis, proved to possess strength that was shocking for his model. Plus that with Starscream's mental instability, the microscope was totally helpless against an enraged, wingless Seeker. He cried out as both arms were forcibly wrenched back, gathered together at the wrists by Starscream's powerful grip. Perceptor tried to twist out of the Seeker's hold, but a painful digging on his back rendered him totally, completely helpless.

"You, Autobot...you will learn that to make a plaything out of me is very unwise..." the normally high-pitched voice was anything but funny when it was lowered to a threatening growl.

In that instant, Perceptor knew that he was in for a big, BIG trouble.


	5. Chapter 5

Optimus Prime, in his alt-mode as the LLC Class-8 truck, was traversing the vast expanse of Oregon dessert along with his counter-strike team. He and his contingent was nearing home now – The Ark – as was informed by both their navigation systems and the familiarity in which they found their surrounding landscapes appeared to be. The evening threw everything into beautifully golden glow though in reality, everything in sight was little more than sands and rocks. Even the sandy clouds that arose in their wakes appeared more of wisps of fairy dust than merely 'dust'. An orange half-circle lined a portion of the horizon as the sun began to set. The Autobot leader remained silent throughout the journey, finding no reason for him not to do so. Instead, he set his visible- ray surveillance cameras tuned to his surroundings and allowed himself a mental recluse into himself as he watched the panorama this planet had to offer. Optimus Prime rarely had time to recall as his position as the Autobot Supreme Commander demanded almost all his attentions, but when freedom and free times presented themselves, he would find himself missing his home world. Hundreds of light years far and he being millions of stellar cycles away from it, his longing to see back his beloved planet healthy and where it was produced an ache in his Spark. Though when Megatron had once Space-Bridged it into Earth's orbit the Prime got the chance to set his optics again on the mechanical planet, it was not exactly the way he wanted to be reunited with it because the price was a doomsday on Earth itself; Cybertron's proximity had thrown Earth into uncontrollable catastrophe with the mighty pull of its gravity. He had only vague memories of Cybertron's sun setting up and down over the planet's horizon, he still being a mere vornling when the planet was still being blessed with the natural phenomena before the Great War consumed it and disturbed its orbit and planetary rotations.

His inner tranquillity was cut short though, by a familiar _beep _announcing the attempted comm. Link initiation by another Cybertronian – the signature wave that came from it informed the Prime of the caller's identity. The channel that was used was universally regarded as military-purposed, and, concluding that it was of no private matter, answered publicly:

::Optimus Prime here. What is the matter, Prowl?::

The voice that floated out of Prime's speakers was indeed one that came from the vocalizer of Prowl and the Autobot SIC had the rarely-heard tinge of desperateness in his tone:

::We have a situation in the Ark. Starscream has been activated and fully functional, though still unarmed. He has held Perceptor in custody. So far, he is unharmed...but there is no guarantee of his safety. Code Alpha-Delta-Sigma.::

Were Prime was in his bipedal mode – and as such possessed facial structures – he would have frowned. As it was, the powerful engine's rumbles increased a notch, a change too subtle for a human's ears to detect but of which was detected readily since the Autobots had wider ranges of audio perceptions.

::Information received, Prowl. We're still at least a breem away. Can you hold out on your own?::

::I will do as best as I can.::

::Thank you, and good luck. Optimus out::

The link was severed after Prowl vocalized his closure – at the end of it, the Datsun truly sounded desperate. Optimus Prime understood the direness of the situation – a top-of-the-list Decepticon right in the Autobot stronghold with Perceptor in his custody...Primus, it did not just sound bad, the real situation was actually even _worse._

"Autobots, accelerate!"

Optimus's order was answered by instantaneous increases in the engines' volumes as their owners pushed their speeds even more. Even if their Commander had not issue it, the autobots would still hasten because of the newly-received news.

Behind, Ratchet's voice rose to counter the loudness of revved engines, "B-but it's unlikely! The last time I've checked on him, his energy level is barely 30 percents!"

"Then it seems, Ratchet, that we have underestimated Starscream's capabilities..." Optimus answered carefully, not wanting to sound accusing because he never did intend to. Like he had stated, the Autobots, especially himself, had failed to grasp the extent of threats the Seeker was capable of.

Before them, half of Mt. Hillary came into their viewing range, its peak towering above the line of horizon. The dead volcano stood still in the flat expanse of the surrounding dessert, an ancient, unmoving sentinel that had been there for four million Earth-years. And for as long as that, it had also housed the Ark at its base, which had crash-landed and became permanently imbedded into its side. And somewhere within the Ark, an immense threat in the form of Starscream terrorized its residents. The very thought of what damages that the Seeker could have possibly caused made Optimus Prime's vents stalled for a brief nanoklik out of anxiety.

The Autobot leader picked up his pace while trying hard not to dwell on the worst-case scenario playing in his CPU. He prayed with all his Spark that there were no more things about Starscream that he failed to notice.

**XxXx**

"You think you are so mighty, huh? Think that I'm going to grovel at your filthy pedes, Autobot scum? Well, guess what? You're wrong!"

Perceptor's only vocalizations were groans of discomfort as he lay pinned upon the med-bay's floor, a crazed Starscream upon his back. He dared not to try negotiating with the obviously unstable Seeker, knowing that his rage had consumed his capacity for logical and critical thinking. The microscope's helplessness did not stop his CPU from processing possible way outs of his situation, but he knew his best bet was to have his fellow Autobots would come to his rescue soon.

"What is your designation, Autobot?"

The sudden change in Starscream's talking caught the microscope by surprise – and for the delay, he was awarded with a severe tightening on his main energon line.

"I ask you, Autobot! Answer me!"

The choking servo made it difficult for Perceptor to form any intelligible sound. For a few nanokliks, all that he managed was incoherent sputtering as the stress on his vocalizer increased. Apparently aware of the problem, Starscream loosened his hold a notch, only just enough for Perceptor to sob in difficulty, "P-Perceptor...! I-I'm a science...officer...!"

"Good." The weight on his back shifted a little as the Decepticon twisted around to see his surroundings in seeking clues of his location. "Where are we?"

"...in...the Autobot's h-headquarter..."

Perceptor let out a pained howl as Starscream's other servo wrenched the microscope tube backwards, dislocating the ball-bearings that joined his shoulder-plates to it.

"I am not a fool, Autobot! I ask you again: Where _are _we?"

This time, the Autobot scientist knew what Starscream's real question was and answered more carefully, fearing more tortures from him in case he still got his meaning wrong, "In...the m-medical bay..."

There was a harsh harrumph from behind, a vocalization of Starscream's annoyance. For a klik, they remained in the position – Perceptor suffering to have a mech's weight, even that of a Seeker, pressuring his spinal strut – while the Seeker processed the information he had received and was likely calculating the best way to escape from this place.

_Hurry up, Prowl, Red Alert, Inferno...anybody...! _Perceptor silently thought while the silence lasted.

When he had realized that Starscream had somehow broken the universal override codes and was awake, Perceptor had acted out of desperation by sending databursts – a type of textual communication that did not require the receiver to be informed first – that informed the remaining Autobots of his situation. He hoped that his friends received them and acted quickly, because if they did not...well, he did not want to think yet what would happen to him.

Finally, Starscream shifted a little to enable him to lower his mouth components near to Perceptor's audios and whispered, "Now, Perceptor...know that I don't take kindly to any attempt of escape so you will do exactly as I say, understood?"

Perceptor's answer came as a weak nod – he was too busy 'gulping' cool air through his oral passage to vocalize properly while trying to cool his heated internals. Like all Cybertronians, under duress, Perceptor's circuitries would function unusually high, resulting in wasteful heat that could damage his internals if nothing was done about them.

Satisfied enough with the non-verbal answer, Starscream get off from the microscope-former's back though he still kept a tight grip on his energon line, the digits' ends poking threateningly into the tubes as a warning to abandon any defiance Perceptor might intended.

"Get up and discard all weapons you have. Remember, no false move or..." Starscream emphasized his threat by choking Perceptor so hard that the Autobot groaned in pain. The hold was relaxed to the previous pressure instantly; Starscream intended only to warn for now, not to terminate yet.

Perceptor did as was told; his movements were slow and calculated so as not to cause Starscream's misinterpretation. After all, his servos were still tight about his neck and on one of his wrist-joints; the other one was freed for the moment to allow him limited freedom in carrying out the given order. Perceptor executed silent command codes to unlatch the microscope tube from his shoulder-plates – aside from magnification, the microscope also served as high-powered, long-ranged laser shooter. Then, he extracted the standard laser gun from his sub-space, fearing that Starscream's paranoia would lead the Seeker to behave violently in case of him finding the weapon in his sub-space. Furthermore, there was no point pretending that his sub-space was empty, given the widely-known tradition among Decepticons and Autobots alike to have spare armaments in there in times of the unexpected.

However, before he could toss the laser gun aside, Starscream stopped him. "No, give me that weapon."

Perceptor obeyed soundlessly, taking care to offer the butt of the gun instead the barrel as an assurance that he was not about to injure the Seeker. Starscream snatched the weapon with speed and precision so astounding that Perceptor was reminded of Hound's descriptions of an eagle's hunting techniques which he had observed while on a scouting trip. This demonstration on the Seeker's prowess, albeit an unintentional one, did not help him in assuaging his anxieties at all.

"Nice toy you have here," the Decepticon flyer commented after an astrosecond's observation – and it actually was. Though it was initially a laser gun common to be found, Perceptor had his ways with it and had tweaked it a little so that it would be able to deliver a spread beam in addition to the standard shot of focused, thin streak. It was also equipped with a simple detector that could pick up wide ranges of electromagnetic fields, which included Cybertronians' various energy signatures – right now, it was still silent because there was no surplus charge was there yet to fuel its operation; it only worked when the gun was activated to a certain level that Perceptor had set up earlier. It was a useful ability to have at his disposal as an Autobot scientist...but a very dangerous advantage in the hand of an enemy, especially one as devious and as cruel as Starscream.

"Tell me where my wings are, Autobot."

"I...don't know. Ratchet might have known it, he was the one who dismantled them in the first place..."

"And where is this Ratchet you are talking about?"

"He...he was out with Prime and other Autobots. They are r-responding to a warning by Teletraan-I."

"I see. Your pathetic leader and your sorry friends are not here, then. Makes my escape all the easier. Shame you don't know where my wings, though...well then, perhaps you can tell me where are my null-rays instead, Autobot?"

Perceptor grumbled inwardly at the constant reference to his faction, and not personal designation – if this was how he was to be addressed, Starscream should have spared himself from asking his name earlier. But then again, it might be part of the Seeker's plan to mentally irritate him? He had no ways of being sure.

The business end of the laser gun was subtly pointed right under Perceptor's nasal, silent reminder that he had 'misbehaved' by delaying his reply. His vents stalled involuntarily under the mental pressure before he managed to stutter, "I-I don't know exactly ...but m-maybe in the Confiscation Storage Room..."

"Is it far from here? And don't lie to me."

"N-near the detention brig...it's down on the third exit of the Main Corridor...near the left wing..."

"Sounds far." Starscream mused to himself. Perceptor let out an involuntary gasp as he felt the gun's barrel poked into a seam at Perceptor's back plating. There was a slight chuckle from the flyer, a sound that seemed to ignite all precaution procedures in the microscope's systems, preparing him for the 'flight-or-flee' responses.

"Being cooperative now, eh? I think...perhaps _too _cooperative." His servo grabbed at Perceptor's shoulder-plates, pulling him roughly back. A hard kick was planted right at his aft, the force causing him to stumble forward but the grip on his shoulder preventing him from falling entirely. Perceptor groaned as the stinging in his aft grew painful where the pede had landed. "Thinking to buy your friends some more time to save you? No, I'll not risk my safety merely for my null-rays. I'm not a fool, Autobot. I am the best Megatron could ever hoped for...but he can't see that, can he? No...I am always the nuisance in his plan..."

_There goes my brilliant time-delaying plan_, Perceptor mourned. Well, at least he had tried. However, despite being engulfed in desperation, the microscope-former's incredible ability to maintain focused observation did not miss the slight mourning Starscream made himself; it was almost imperceptible, but his high-pitched voice dropped an octave or two when he mentioned Megatron's name. If he was able to turn around and looked upon the Seeker's faceplates, Perceptor would have been able to detect the dimmed lights his optics shone with – a Cybertronian's general sign for negative feelings, especially sadness.

Despite Perceptor's rare participation in direct battles, he had heard tales of how Megatron was constantly at odds with his Second-In-Command, and the few times he did engage in fights made him a witness of the Decepticon leaders' unceasing viciousness towards each other. Usually verbal clashes when in battlefields, but rumours his fellow Autobots had brought back told that the aggressiveness between those two was far more physical and was very likely worse when in Nemesis, where no Autobot had yet bore witness to their private fights. There was even this one shockingly blunt occasion that Jazz told him once; it was when Megatron and Optimus Prime were forced to team up in order to prevent the Earth from being destroyed by Dr. Arkeville's exponential generator whose explosion would cause the destruction of planet Earth. Starscream's return from Cybertron was greeted mockingly pleasantly by his leader...right before he shot him on the wings with his Fusion Cannon. If that was not proof enough of their mutual hostility, the fact that Ratchet was forced to replace the wings told roughly the extension of torture this flyer was made to go through. No wonder then, if Starscream longed for his leader's appreciation, no matter how slight.

Starscream's sadness did not linger long. The next time he spoke, the voice had regained its normal frequency while commanding pompously:

"Onward, Autobot. Straight to the exit; no false directions, please. I'll know soon enough...and you won't like it when I do."

Perceptor's nod was a reply enough. With his servo still in Starscream's tight grasp as a precaution in case the Autobot was up to something and the dangerous tip of the laser gun applying subtle pressure on his spinal strut, Perceptor took a step forward. Pede after pede, he advanced towards the med-bay's exit slowly, each step was deliberate and stiff while he battled with the inner desire to either spin around and hit Starscream by surprise or, more stupidly, ran away. His fast-processing CPU concluded that both options would likely end up with a high possibility of being terminated, or at least, seriously injured.

Out of the med-bay they went; Perceptor took the left turn where it would lead towards the exit, Starscream mirroring every step taken with increasing edginess. Whether it was the simple fact of being trapped in an enemy base or Perceptor's speculation that he was at ill ease with the shocking-hued interiors when the Nemesis was adorned in dark purple, the scientist could not exactly tell, but the Decepticon was clearly in some kind of fear or anxiety.

They walked in silence for barely a klik and a half when muffled pede-steps from the Ark, separated by a distance of a few metres from the med-bay building, reached their mechanical audios. The beats were rapid, indicating that the comer was running – and by the increasing volume, running towards them. Starscream pulled the microscope closer towards his own chassis who intended to use him as his living shield; his shoulder was held even firmer, the laser gun lifted and charged for the blast to be released with only a little more pressure on the trigger.

::Perceptor, this is Prowl!::

A smooth voice shouted over the private channel of the comm. link. The Datsun had received Perceptor's distress databurst, and for that, the microscope was grateful. However, how on Cybertron was he going to save him from this maniac was beyond Perceptor's CPU to process. Then again, Prowl had the fastest-processing, most effective CPU in the army, making him reliable as the Autobot Tactician. Being reminded of the Datsun-patroller's abilities somewhat eased the many uneasiness brewing in Perceptor's systems.

::Perceptor acknowledges. I'm still alright, but please be quick. Starscream is very unstable for the moment and I fear he may do something dangerously illogical.::

::Status received. Hold on, Perceptor. Do what he orders for now. If he is as dangerous as you say, it is best not to provoke him.::

::Understood and agreed upon.::

::Also, I have contacted Prime and have informed him of our situations. If nothing is amiss, he and his team will arrive in a breem.::

_That will probably too long a period to save me _was Perceptor's private thought when that bit of news reached him, and it had its merits too though rather pessimistic. Starscream was a fast-going mech, and it would take only a nanoklik for him to change his decision; from sparing Perceptor in a moment, the next second he probably decided that it was best to terminate him. Though when still near the Ark, he would probably keep him functional to extort the Autobots in allowing him to escape, when he was out of their ranges, Starscream would likely deem his useless. When that time comes, his deactivation would have been assured. Still, Perceptor refused to see his future bleakly; his friends were there for him and would be ready to help. He had faiths in them.

::I hear you, Prowl. Perceptor out.:: The microscope-former sent back. Prowl's acknowledgement was heard an astrosecond later before he severed their connection.

Barely a nanoklik had passed before Prowl's figure appeared out of a corner in front of Starscream and Perceptor, from the direction where the building's entrance which faced those of the Ark was located. The Datsun's doorwings stood more vertical on his back than they usually did, though his faceplates revealed none of the worry his aforementioned appendages were displaying.

"Prowl," Perceptor heard the hissing note the flyer's voice produced at the utterance of the Autobot SIC's designation. It appeared that Starscream was somewhat knowledgeable about the identities of the Autobots, given that he had fought them for millions of stellar cycles under Megatron's rule. His not knowing Perceptor's identity might be for the fact that he rarely went out of the Ark – except when he was out exploring with Hound or Wheeljack.

"Take another step and Perceptor here will lose an arm," the flyer hissed louder for Prowl to hear the warning. It was not an empty threat for Starscream had emphasized his seriousness by shifting the laser gun to visibly point at Perceptor's shoulder-joints and added a charge to it.

Prowl stopped dead in his track, just beyond the laser gun's electromagnetic wave-detecting range. He had also recognized the real threat contained in the gestures and the words. "Alright, alright...I stop. Just please, don't hurt him. I'm willing to discuss our situations. "

"No, thanks. I rather like with my current plan," Starscream growled back – at least, as much as he could made himself sounded so with his infamously high voice. More quietly, he whispered to Perceptor, "Where are the exit, and how far it is?"

"Straight down this corridor, about a fifty Cybertronian metre," answered the microscope.

"Good," and he began to move forward, moving slowly but surely towards said exit while Perceptor was pushed onwards by the shoulder. Starscream's optics were trained on Prowl who compensated the Seeker's advance by retreating towards the exit, aware of every twitch of digits, every flick of his doorwings, every shifting of his pedes. Not once he reverted his view from the Datsun who stood as rigidly as a lamp post, fearing however slight a movement, whether accidental or not, would cause Starscream's paranoia to harm the scientist.

"Starscream, please. This is not going anywhere. You are endangering both one of ours AND yourself," Prowl tried again to reason with the Seeker...only to be answered by an irritated snort from the latter.

"You can keep the offer to yourself. I'd rather take my chance."

Kliks crawled by with a snail's speed for Perceptor who suffered to be dragged by the Seeker, but he was helpless to fight the proceedings. Prowl, mindful of the tremendous danger he risked upon Perceptor should he went any nearer, kept a safe distance from them, though secretly he was maintaining contact with the Autobot Science Officer, both to inform him of the plan his battle circuits had devised and also to somewhat lend him a sense of assurance that he was not alone despite the lack of visual presences of the other Autobots.

::Perceptor, don't worry. We're working on freeing you at this very moment. I've already sent Mirage to fetch Starscream's null-rays and wait at the exit – only there he can have a clear shot at Starscream. We cannot risk damage to the walls if we start shooting in here. Skyfire, Cliffjumper, Hound and Inferno are already in their positions should anything goes wrong. Red Alert is monitoring the whole things from the Command Deck.::

::Null-rays? Doesn't he already have missile-launcher integrated to his chassis?::

::A point he has made clear to me himself, but I believe Optimus Prime wants Starscream unharmed or he would not have him repaired in the first place.::

::A valid reason...though I do hope that we taking care of Starscream's well-being is worth the efforts.::

::Optimus Prime always have his reasons, and I put my trust in him.::

::I know, I trust him too. And I trust also in your plan, or I will either be on my way to Nemesis or being terminated in two kliks from now.::

::No, it will never come to that. I'll make sure of it myself even if I have to pull out my Spark.::

It was an assurance for Perceptor that the Autobots did not give up on him, but the microscope-former did not let his relief showed and maintained a tense chassis and scared expression upon his faceplates so as not to give Starscream reason to be suspicious of the conversations that had just passed between he and Prowl.

The vast exit was about 20 Cybertronian metres from Starscream and Perceptor by now. The microscope could feel a light draft of air cycling through the Seeker's shoulder-vents as relief to see again the open sky swept through his systems. Beyond the entrance was Starscream's freedom, but somewhere between it, Mirage was waiting to deny the flyer of it. All was going rather smoothly so far...until suddenly, a light _beep_ sounded from the end of Starscream's armed servo. From Perceptor's laser gun, to be exact.

"What in Unicron's name – Frag you, Autobot scums!" Starscream's vents cycled with anger instead of his previous ease; Perceptor cursed at his own forgetfulness – His gun knew no difference between an Autobot or a Decepticon, alerting the wielder to the presences of both now that it was charged to the minimum trigger capacity. He had somehow missed to tell Prowl of this little bit of information, or at least alerted Mirage to stay out of range before the time to strike.

Starscream spared an astrosecond to glance at the virtual screen popping up on the laser gun; at the centre was a blue dot that represented Starscream as its wielder. There was also a green dot, the laser having recognized Perceptor's energy signature as its owner. However, what caused Starscream's anxious anger was the fact that there was also another dot present upon it, situated at the outermost ring of the screen – it was Mirage's energy reading.

"You're trying to ambush me, Autobots? Well, think again!" So saying, Starscream acted violently towards his prisoner, wrenching his arm back and –

"Aaaaarrrgghhh!"

Perceptor's pain-filled howl echoed in the area and beyond as the sensor nets where his arm met his chassis registered blistering heat searing through his networks there, but beyond that was senseless; Starscream had done what he had promised before, shooting at Perceptor's shoulder and severing completely the arm which was attached to it. Fire consumed parts of his circuitries for barely an astrosecond, but the pain lingered a lot longer than the flame causing Perceptor's vents to stall and hitch whenever he tried to cycle air to ease the pain. The only good thing the laser hit had given its victim was that it was so hot, the shot had actually cauterized the wound by simultaneously welded the damaged armour shut even as it seared off his limb with its high temperature.

"No, Perceptor!" A disembodied, cultured voice shouted from somewhere to their left. Starscream's optics shifted lightning-fast towards the approximate place of its source and spoke, though no mech was in sight there.

"See, Mirage? This is the consequence for not obeying my...'request'. Better show yourself now or your friend will lose a lot more than his arm."

An eerie silence dropped between the unseen Noble and the Seeker. Then, suddenly, orange-glowing lines appeared out of thin air, joining with one another to form the frame of a rectangle; inside it, Mirage slowly materialized starting from his pedes, the visibility and solidness of his chassis progressing ever upwards until it reached his blue helm. His missile launcher was mounted on his shoulder-plates, as usual, but the null-rays Prowl had ordered him to bring along was nowhere to be seen; he must have stowed them away in his sub-space, still hoping to use them on the Seeker later when the opportunity to do so was made available to him.

From the depth of the Ark, the resonating _clang-clang_ of running pedes grew louder and louder by the passing astroseconds, the Autobots apparently had been informed of the accident and Perceptor's injury, whether via their comm. links or the simpler way of hearing the Autobot's voiced agony.

Prowl was joined by three sprinting Autobots behind him when they emerged from inside the star-cruiser, slowing their paces to a walk as they gradually approached Starscream and his Autobot prisoner; in the haze of his pain, Perceptor's optics managed to identify the green of Hound, Cliffjumper's red-horned helm and a mass of moving reds that appeared to belong to Inferno's large chassis from the tangles of colours behind Prowl's prominent white-and-black frame.

"Another step, any of you, and Perceptor will suffer worse than he already does!" Starscream's tone was desperate but determined. He was like a cornered wolf now, a danger to everyone around him and his own self. Starscream shifted his hold to the bundles of his neck-cables, the arm which he had been gripping onto was now severed from the chassis; the gun was now pointed towards the assembled Autobots should any of them decided to be a 'hero'.

"Just...Just calm down, Starscream. Let's think about this carefully –"

"No, I just have enough of your tricks, Autobot scums! I won't hear anything else from all of you!"

Starscream's aim moved from one Autobot to another unceasingly, driven by his fear and desperation to take to the air. Although now bereft of his treasured wings, they were replaceable; his life, on the other servo, was not. No matter how fond he was of his wings, flight would no longer anything meaningful if his Spark ceased to exist. He might not be able to transform right now, but he had ran a quick diagnosis on his systems and had received confirmation that his anti-gravity applications were functional.

Starscream's progress went unhindered until he was completely out of the Autobot's med-bay building. The other Autobots kept a respectful distance from the Decepticon, although from their pede-shifting and faceplates-scrunching, they itched badly to beat the slag out of this maniacal Seeker. Only Prowl's insistent _no_ prevented them from rushing off towards Starscream – and very probably, causing Perceptor to be damaged even worse by his captor.

"You useless Decepti-creep! Get your rusty servo off him!" It was Cliffjumper who lose it this time; the minibot jumped out from the back and made a dash for his scientist friend, but Prowl stopped him before he could run past the Datsun.

Starscream, shocked at the sudden movement, cocked the barrel straight at Cliffjumper's chest-piece, exactly where his Spark was housed underneath. The gun hummed and vibrated with barely-contained charges, but the blast was yet to be unleashed.

"I'm warning you, Autobots!" He screeched; terror and anger had risen his pitch into making his voice sounded almost funny, but none laughed at him this time. Perceptor was seriously weakened by now; the jerking of his helm made it clear that he was fighting stasis lock that threatened to offline him. "I swear on my Spark, if any of you put even a pede closer, I'll –"

"Starscream!"

It was like the atmosphere had been frozen solid; the voice lanced through the cacophony of bickering as easily as a knife would cut through butter. The Autobots went stiff with surprise as the muted power within the voice leaked through the sternness of its tone, though the speaker was in fact neither shouting nor snapping. Even Starscream stopped upon hearing the voice – for the mech who had uttered his name was the one whom he knew so well...so very well, in fact, that perhaps no other Cybertronian recognized him for what he was like Starscream did.

"Skyfire...?"

Behind the Prowl-led Autobot group, a huge shadow loomed, towering to twice the height of the tallest of them. White paintjobs glimmered as the last rays of the setting sun caught it in its beams and reflected the meticulous shine of the armour, streaked here and there by red lines when the Autobot flyer stepped out of the Ark altogether. Wings rose from behind his shoulder, which was now positioned in response to the tension their owner was experiencing, but his movements were unafraid.

Prowl acknowledged the dire situations they were in – which was why, despite his own crazy urge to shoot at Starscream, he held himself and the others behind him – Cliffjumper, especially – from doing any move against the Seeker. His CPU almost overheated as it ran simulations after simulations of the right course of actions, but none of them held success percentage of more than 30%. The Datsun was not scared to take risks, as long as they were reasonable and the results were worth it – which usually meant a success rate of higher than 45%. He was unbelievably at the edge of his tactic-devising abilities...until Skyfire's sudden appearance presented himself with a simulation with half the chance to work. His hopes suddenly rose; acting quickly, Prowl opened a channel to the Autobot shuttle:

::Skyfire, this is Prowl.::

::Skyfire here. What is it?::

::Delay Starscream's departure and distract him for as long as you can. I'm going to send Mirage in.::

::Copy that. Skyfire out.::

Other Autobots stared in surprise by Skyfire's demonstration of his confidence as he strode towards Starscream and Perceptor; so rarely did he meddled in battles that it was very uncustomary for them to see the shuttle acted such, even though they knew he was not a coward at all. As for Starscream, to set his optics once again on those huge frame was like both a sweet dream and a nightmare at the same time. Jet engines whirred like mad in response to his inner turbulence; already his gun-holding servo shook under said stress, but the barrel was steered clear away from the shuttle-former.

"Starscream, listen to me. This is madness! You and I know that you can fly for barely over a klik before you are being recaptured again!"

Starscream's vents stalled; when they spun again, however, it was with furious velocity that matched his leering, "You won't dare...or maybe you don't see that I have with me a prisoner? Or are you willing to sacrifice one of yours to catch me?"

"No, you're right; every Spark deserves to live. However, Starscream...do YOU want to face me again, old friend? Face me in my anger, face me as an enemy?"

Skyfire's words apparently held more power than any of his fellow Autobots had initially expected for Starscream did not only pause to ponder his words; in fact, he went as far as lowering his laser gun, as though the very thought of dogfighting with Skyfire, and remembering the last time he did so, was something that definitely did not need of repeating.

Prowl found it strange for Skyfire to address the Decepticon Air Commander as an old friend, but this was not a time for fickle curiousity; having ordered Mirage to assume invisibility while Skyfire's conversation had provided means of distraction, the hesitance Starscream was in now was to Prowl a signal for him to command through Mirage's comm. link:

::Mirage, NOW!::

The laser gun's detection systems beeped as the ghostly mech moved into its range for a clearer shot; startled, Starscream whirled around in the indicated direction, but before he could point his weapon either at his invisible target or at Perceptor, a purple line of laser-fire sliced through the air with a sharp _tsew,_ its source invisible as the null-rays remained within Mirage's cloaking distance.

The shot hit Starscream squarely on his armed servo; Perceptor's stolen weapon fell from his grip and hit the sandy Earth with a dulled thud. A weak Perceptor suddenly realized what had happened and twisted his chassis when he felt Starscream's choke on his neck-cables lessened. The sudden movements forced the Seeker to release his prey altogether while Mirage, seeing that Perceptor had lunged clear of his captor, bodily rammed the Seeker.

Both fell in confusing tangle of limbs; his cloaking generator was accidentally damaged upon impact, and the blue-white chassis appeared in the momentary rectangular frames that marked his invisibility range. Tussling in the dirt, there was no Autobot who dared to open fire, fearing that they might hit their friends instead. Prowl rushed forward as soon as he saw Starscream crumbled to his knee-bearings, barely avoiding Mirage's helm when it lose its invisibility as he tackled the legs, the Noble having restrained the flyer's upper half. With much difficulty, Prowl sub-spaced a pair of stasis-cuffs out and clamped them upon Starscream's gathered servos. A purple energy field wound itself round the wrists and enveloping the two servos whole in a purple globe. Starscream's enraged howl was cut short while the paralyzing chip installed in the stasis-cuffs set to work, sending temporary crippling programming throughout his whole systems and offlining his vocalizer in the process. Completely immobile now, Starscream would remain so until the stasis-cuffs were detached...which would probably being done after his permanent deactivation. Prowl and Mirage raised themselves to their pedes, both mechs' vents venting in relief with their Decepticon threat was now neutralized.

While Prowl and Mirage was busy with Starscream, Skyfire and Inferno instead went to the injured Perceptor to check on his conditions. Skyfire gently cradled the microscope-former while Inferno ran a quick scan on his chassis – luckily for them, Perceptor's cauterized wounds had prevented massive loss of energon blood, but the pain was showing on his frowning faceplates. He also had other marks that told of Starscream's abuse on him, but compared to the former injury, they were ignorable for now.

"I'll get him to the med-bay and see what I can do..." Inferno offered readily. His alt-mode as a fire engine somewhat reflected his abilities, and that including giving first-aids to damaged Cybertronians.

Skyfire had no reason to disagree with him; gently, he transferred the limp chassis into Inferno's waiting arms before picking up Perceptor's severed limb, which lay not far off. The red mech accepted that too and stowed it away in his sub-space so his carrying of Perceptor would not be disturbed. That done, he dashed off into the med-bay, quickly vanishing into the darkening shadows inside it even though his pede-steps continued to persist longer than his visual presence.

Turning around, Skyfire found that the other Autobots had crowded around the helpless Decepticon SIC. Hound was congratulating Prowl and Mirage on their successful capture, while Cliffjumper was less subtle in his 'celebration', noisily cussing at Starscream for what he had put them through. Had Starscream still possessed the ability to vocalize, Skyfire was sure that the verbal venom the Seeker would spat in turn at the minibot would be far humiliating. It should have been a scene of victory to Skyfire, with Starscream being arrested by now...but he did not found joy in what his optics were seeing.

"Prime and his team are back," Prowl suddenly announced; sure enough, along the lower-land trails visible from this higher base of the dead volcano, a long trail of dust appeared along it. Hound's tracking system confirmed the Prowl's claim, verifying the grouped energy signatures to be friendly.

While all of his Autobot friends turned away from Starscream, who was lying vulnerably on the ground, Skyfire took the chance to approach his once friend and knelt before his head. For an astrosecond or two, blue optics locked upon the familiar blood-reds; memories dredged up from the abyss of his memories, and feelings long gone were evoked in the shuttle's Spark. None of his friends were aware of this silent exchange as they waited for their leader's arrival, and Skyfire preferred it to remain so.

Starscream's optics held silent pleas for mercy; the pitiful sight reminded him too much of the Starscream he once knew; the Starscream who had stumbled into his lab nine million stellar cycles ago, faceplates full of sorrowful experiences the flyer did not deserve. They were the same dull optics, then and now. Skyfire could feel his optic ducts swelling with emotional tears at the recollections, but he held the flow from leaking out.

"I...I am very, very sorry for this, Starscream..."

**XXXXX**

The sky was theirs, whether Cybertronian or Earthen. Wind was their friend, storm was their mentor, their own wings being the lovers. In the alt-mode of human-designed F-15s, they painted the blue heaven with their own brands of white trails, racing each other at speed just beyond to those of sound's. Of course, both Thundercracker and Skywarp could go faster, as fast as 3 Machs, but to push themselves to reach it would be a strain. No, their flight today was neither purposed on wars nor field-training. The two Decepticon Seekers had taken to their wings because of the sole purpose of missing the joy of it.

Earlier this morning, Megatron had published an announcement that warranted his flyers to finally leave the Nemesis for leisurely flight sessions. The Seekers of the Command Trine had been the mechs most exuberant upon receiving this for the flight-curfew Megatron had enforced on them due to the lack of energon had begun to take their tolls. Thundercracker was the first to fulfil his desire, jumping out of the Nemesis departure tower immediately after finishing his read on the official notice. Skywarp was not far behind, only nanokliks later joining his Seeker-mate.

High above the clouds, there was no claustrophobia to threaten their joys. Among Seekers still functioning today, Megatron's Command Trine had been the most phobia-proof of Nemesis's confined space compared to the limitless sky they were used to – not that it meant they were completely at ease with it. No, Skywarp, especially, had a tough time earlier when he first joined the Decepticon – he used to be prone to CPU crash if he did not fly for two orns. Older Thundercraker, calmer and less frantic in his demeanour, coped with his problems better; in fact, he was the one that did the soothing when Starscream, being the youngest, brashest, most enthusiastic member of the Trine, lost his nerves in a few rare events.

Thundercracker followed Skywarp as he climbed the heaven in a steep ascend, managing to register his trinemate's movements even though part of his CPU was already in processors-drift. Twisting like lunatic acrobats, Skywarp executed a number of gravity-defying aerial stunts that would have put most flyers out of the scene; his blue trinemate mimicked him effortlessly, they being under the tutelage of the one and the same Starscream. Suddenly, through unspoken agreement, both Seekers began an airborne ballet, a synchronization of movements so gentle-looking and yet so energy-demanding that none save the Command Trinemembers could carry it out. This was a practical, harsh, blunt routine from the War Academy that Starscream had taken for himself, modified its arrangements, softened its aggression and perfected the interactions until whoever onlookers seeing it performed would spot a piece of art. In the jet's wakes, thread-thin smoke, expelled from their afterburners, painted abstract shapes. Not on holo-canvas, not on datapad; the medium was the vast sky itself.

The reason of this aerial dance's performance was simplicity in itself; they mourned for Starscream's absence and danced it so that they could feel his metaphorical presence. It was actually Starscream's version for his own manoeuvrability training, but in it he found the joy in mastering the sky, a joy he shared with Thundercracker and Skywarp after they formed a trine. He taught them the movements, modified them so the dance would now meant to be performed by three instead of one. This orn, as they dashed and zig-zagged and twirled and dove, they could almost feel that their trineleader was here too, filling the gaps in this routine.

However, what Thundercracker and Skywarp did not know while they savoured their imagined trineleader's presence, was that they were being watched...

Unlike the Seekers, Megatron was underwater, within Nemesis and sitting on his throne in the Command Centre. To him, freedom of the sky was not his; wind irritated him, storms endangered him and wings were never a part of him. All he had was clumsy anti-grav.

A holographic HUD was projected before him from one of the throne's arm-rests. He was quite leisurely right now, with all the important matters being handled by Soundwave acting on his part, and the thought of entertaining himself with the flyers' escapade seemed like a less boring way to pass time than just sit there and staring into oblivion. Honestly, he had thought that it would be the Coneheads that went to fly first, considering how agitated they had been since the flight-curfew began; to his pleasant surprise, though, the mechs that appeared on the virtual screen were the sleeker, less ridiculous-looking Thundercracker and Skywarp. It seemed that the Command Trine had claimed their perks, with Thundercracker being the Air Commander, to get their turn for freedom first. Megatron certainly had no objection to this.

To his astonishment, his stalking on the Seekers revealed to him an unexpected show; Starscream's aerial ritual, carried out with the complete lack of aforementioned Seeker. Megatron had come across it before on a few accidental occasions and to this orn, he still recalled the beauty of it in its completeness. This time, though, as amazing as it still looked, it was crippled in Megatron's trained optics. Unfinished. Lacking. Reflexively, his processors fought the vision of imperfection, conjuring phantom Starscream in his virtual simulation to vanquish the emptiness the actual routine had.

The leader and his underling Seekers, though separate in space as they were, were sharing their sorrow on their loss of Starscream.

The tyrant continued to gaze at the HUD for a few more kliks, mesmerized in the world of flight the Seekers had created and beautified. A ground-hugger like him had never had the urge for what the Seekers mastered, but he nevertheless found the joy that Starscream had tried to convey through his creation. His Spark gave a powerful twinge at this; if his self-restraint had been weaker, he would have likely clutched at his chest-armour by now.

"Big boss?"

Rumble's squeaky voice cut through his processors-drift and his awareness of the pain in his Spark; it was the small mech's turn for monitor duty this time, and apparently, his optics were not always focused on the screen. He had had his chair swivelled to half-face Megatron when he realized the slight frown upon Megatron's optic ridge. More of being afraid that it was a gesture of displeasure at whatever flaws he might have done than out of any concern for the leader, Rumble had taken his chance to call out to him.

"Hmmph, mind your own business, Rumble," Megatron snapped. He was not really angry, but he did not want to look weak in the optics of his soldiers. Suddenly concerned that the Casetticon might have caught a glimpse of the view on his HUD, he shut it off with a tap of his digit on the on/off button. Why he would mind himself with such petty annoyance was beyond himself; the feeling and the action following it was rather instinctive, and Megatron spared himself the processors-ache from thinking about them any longer.

Rumble obeyed without a word more spoken; he had never been the primary receiver of Megatron's anger – that title was exclusively reserved for Starscream – but that was never a reason for carelessness. His leader's moods could fluctuate strongly in a matter of astroseconds and so was his preference for targets.

The Command Centre was suddenly filled with beeping echoes from the Nemesis's main computer system – Megatron was about to ask Rumble what was happening when the Casetticon himself wheeled his chair around and pointed to the main screen.

"Attempted visual contact from Cybertron, boss."

Megatron leaned forward in his throne, immediately interested. "Cybertron? It must be Shockwave, then. Allow connection."

The little mech did as was told, pressing appropriate keys on the control panel. The screen clarified to reveal the expected lavender, one-opticked mech. Shockwave's face – if face it can be called for a hexagonal pit filled with a lone yellow bulb at the centre – remained unfathomable, but the upper torso of his chassis, the only other part of him that could fit in the screen's view, told Megatron in part of what news the Guardian of Cybertron might convey.

"Hail, Lord Megatron."

The silver warlord nodded his acknowledgement; right now, he was too busy with his curiousity to spare any part of his processors to feel flattered. Straight to the point, then.

"Shockwave, what news you have to tell me?"

Said mech did not hesitate; he never was because he relied solely on scientific logic – and right now, he analyzed that, should Megatron got angry with whatever he had to spill in a few nanokliks, his leader was not only unable to vent out his feelings on Shockwave due to their distance, it was also because Megatron had never did that to his precious soldier.

"We have to delay the delivery of energon cubes to Cybertron, Megatron. The Space Bridge Tower has been reduced to only 47% functionality. At this stage of damage, any attempt of initiation will lead to devastative consequence."

Though taken aback by the unfortunate news, Megatron found it fitting with his observation: Shockwave's left antenna was hanging broken at the side of his head, while cracks and dents were visible all over the shoulder armours, the chest-piece and parts of his fuel-reactor. It was obvious that the Cyclops-mech had just endured a vicious battle on Cybertron.

"What has happened there, Shockwave?"

"A group of Autobot guerrillas has launched a surprise attack on the Tower. We are unable to rally enough soldiers in time to prevent damages to the Space Bridge generator because a majority of them had been guarding the more vulnerable East quadrant. However, the main structure still stands, though requiring immediate fixing before any activity can be carried out. Reprogramming of the generator also means that the time and location for the opening Earth-side Space Bridge will also change."

Megatron's digits had sub-consciously wandered to his chin by now, stroking it up and down in his usual 'deep-in-thought' gesture. This information had thrown in a monkey wrench in his whole plans – to be simple, it jeopardized his schedules.

"How soon will it be operational again?" Megatron's voice was stoic, unfeeling; inside, however, all sorts of things were roiling. Anger at the delay; annoyance at the Autobot guerrillas' interference.; Worry that more misfortune would befall. But nothing was physically shown.

"At the least, the repairs will be finished in a quartex..."

Megatron swore silently. A quartex was too long a time for waiting; energon cubes delivery was done as soon as possible, usually within 28 to 30 joors within their production time. If the delivery was delayed, it would give the Earth-based Autobots His servos gripped the arm-rests with tightness that could have easily crushed light armours, but since his throne was made of Cybertanium alloy, Megatron's servo only achieved in denting the metals. Rumble, glancing once in a while at the tyrant for any clues of his emotional state, dared not look again at this demonstration of wrath-fuelled power.

"Can you make it any faster?" He almost snarled the words out, but Megatron didn't regret his harshness at all.

"It is impossible, Lord Megatron. Not enough slave-drones or prisoners can be recruited to lessen the estimated period. The perimeters still need guarding from further assaults if soldiers are to be included." The British-accented mech's answer was smooth and unwavering despite the appearance of angry frown on Megatron's faceplates, which deepened further at the denial.

Eventually, giving up in his pursuit and resigning himself to wait as long as needed be, Megatron forced his chassis to lean back into the throne, his grip on the arm-rests lessened to relaxed hold. In a controlled voice, he replied, "Do what you can, then. I'll contact you again in a quartex."

"Affirmative, my leader."

Shockwave's image disappeared in the blurs of statics when the communication was ended. All was silent in the Command Centre while Megatron allowed his CPU to process Shockwave's information properly. It was not his task to supervise the Space Bridge's repairs, but slight modifications had to be made to his arrangements here on Earth. First thing first; he had to stop his soldiers from transporting building materials to the original location for the construction of the Space Bridge Ring.

Megatron pushed himself up from the throne by the arm-rests; the sudden movement almost causing Rumble to jump in his own seat before the main screen, but Megatron ignored the cassette's reactions as if he was not there at all. Again, he had needs of Soundwave, and as he exited the Command Centre, he contacted the desired bot.

**XxXx**

Soundwave, Megatron's deputy SIC for the current being, was seated before his working desk, digits almost blurry from the speed of his typing as they danced upon the keyboard. Megatron had demanded the particulars of the next Space Bridge opening as informed by Shockwave by tomorrow. That left him very little time to contact the Guardian of Cybertron and finished his tasks in time, but Soundwave was not Soundwave if the orders of his leader were not fulfilled.

In the silence of his living quarters – which had more room than the average soldiers' but was modestly decorated save for the bare necessities – the cassette-player could work in peace, away from the noisiness that was usual to accompany Decepticons' presences. Unlike others, he was secretive and more than just aloof, more comfortable to have the company of none save his own and his Casetticons. Right now, though, not all of his minions were with him; Rumble was tasked with monitor duty in the Command Centre while Frenzy was off to have some fun in the mess hall. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were with him, as did Ravage, but unlike the bird-bots who were now dormant in their cassette alt-modes within Soundwave's chest-piece, the mecha-panther was prowling the room in random fashion, sometimes stopping in his track to scent lingering sweetness of spilled energon (probably from Rumble's cube) or eyeing with distaste at the scratches that marked Laserbeak's favourite perch on various parts in Soundwave's living quarters.

Soundwave had a few more lines to type in his reports when he became aware of a powerful presence demanding his attention. Quickly abandoning his current works, Soundwave opened his comm. link and answered his leader's call:

::Soundwave here. What is your command, Lord Megatron?::

::Soundwave, I need you to be present in the rec. room right now, and bring along the reports on Shockwave's next Space Bridge.::

::Affirmative, lord Megatron.::

::That's all. Megatron out.::

If Soundwave was any other mech, he would have grumbled at Megatron's demand. As it was, the ex-3IC could only release his frustration into himself, letting no more than an inaudible sigh through his hidden lip components. He typed in the last few sentences that he had left earlier to attend to Megatron's summon first, then downloaded the finished contents to his datapads. The whole process took less than half a klik, a proof of his effectiveness and reliability.

Soundwave stood up; turning, he saw that Ravage was sitting on his black haunch, his triangular head tilted slightly to the side in a curious mimicry of an Earth-cat's gesture of puzzlement. Slanted red optics met his own in a silent request for his master's order.

"Ravage, transform."

The metallic panther did; slender limbs folded inwardly , his head and neck bent backwards and tucked neatly among the changing pieces on his flattening back. As his form changed, the roughly rectangular shape flew through the air for Soundwave's opened chest's cover, finishing the alteration completely just in time for it to snugly fit inside and allowing the cover-panel to close.

The rec. room was only a level below Soundwave's living quarters and on the left side of the turbo-lift; it was not very far at all with only a few astroseconds' worth of distance separated the two places. Soundwave encountered no bots along the way, which was quite unusual if Megatron was calling for a pre-battle meeting. With the leader still out of his telepathy range, plus that with the fact that Nemesis's thick walls separated their physical beings, Megatron's thoughts remained unknown to the navy-and-white mech. His bewilderment did not last long for the tyrant's meta-processors were exposed to him the instant Soundwave entered the official meeting place of Nemesis.

First of all, and the most noticeable, was frustration. It emanated from Megatron like the smell of stale energon in closed space – widespread, inescapable, and very uncomfortable. There was anger here and there, but it was neither prominent nor abundant. Had Soundwave paid closer attention to the myriads of emotions that Megatron's meta-processors spilled out, he would have noticed more, but the warlord's voice had shattered his focus on telepathy.

"Soundwave, I have received news from Cybertron only a short while ago –"

Soundwave's unique ability picked up on the next statements with ease; Megatron's emotions were so clear and his thoughts so loud that he might as well ceased having a vocalizer at all when talking to his Communication Expert, though he had to admit that at least, he was a _little _surprised that the Darkmount's defense had been weakened enough to make damaging the Space Bridge Tower possible. As capable as Shockwave was, he still needed quite a number of soldiers for Darkmount's ensured safety.

"– so I need you to keep in contact with Shockwave and inform me if there is any appreciable progress in my plan. Is that clear?"

The subordinate mech knew that his audios had missed a few of Megatron's spoken words when he was overwhelmed by the leader's mental state, but that was of small concern; his mind had the details as accurate as his vocalizer did.

"It will be done, Lord Megatron."

"Good, but I still need to see the original reports on the Space Bridge," and he extended a servo in demand of said objects.

Soundwave pulled out the datapads from his sub-space and handed them to Megatron; it was strange that the tyrant asked for such mundane things. Megatron thirsted only the glory and bloodlust of battles...not some datapads with boring details upon them...

It hit Soundwave suddenly; it was a subtle feeling, but steady and persistent in its advance that nothing could mask it from reaching his probing mind, unstoppable even by Megatron's disappointment, stronger than his wrath. Now that the gun-former's attention was fixed on the datapads, his more concealed feelings resurfaced as his conscious restraints weakened. Though he had his self-imposed rule to not peek into Megatron's meta-processors, the Decepticon Supreme Commander's mental was so very 'radiant' that the telepathic mech readily received it without him needing to do anything to tune himself to it. He _could_ refuse the receptions if he wished, but inquisitiveness that was a part of his true nature won – and he decided to break the law. He opened himself to the alien presence of Megatron's mind and began to sift through the sensations and thoughts flowing from the leader to him.

Pain. It hurt even a passive receiver like Soundwave; nothing on Megatron's physiques showed any details of it – his silver armours still gleamed as if newly buffed – but oh, what agony it was nevertheless! It consumed his thoughts and sub-consciousness like some virus; its danger lay in its silence, its effects unobservable. His CPU – no, not that, but rather, his Spark – had gathered in itself a longing so powerful, it destroyed its host.

There was a bright flash, and though his pair of optics continued to function as perfectly as they ever were, another vision, independent of his surroundings at the moment, opened up in his processors...

_The HUD he was staring at showed a sky that was bright blue, the single sun hovering just above the Eastern horizon marking the scenery to be that belonging to Earth. A blue-white jet and its black-purple twin came into view; at first, Thundercracker and Skywarp flied in a 'follow-the-leader' fashion,but gradually their separate flights merged into one beautiful, grand-scaled display of an aerial dance._

Soundwave struggled to keep his stoicism intact while waiting for Megatron to finish his read. There were strong emotions and realism attached to the vision he was staring through his 'another' optic – this one existing only in metaphorical world, but functioning with validity that rivalled even those on his faceplates, hidden behind an orange visor – suggesting that this was not merely a product of processors-drift; this was Megatron's true memories. The clarity with which the vision presented itself also informed the communication officer that it was only recently experienced –

_Jet-Thundercracker swirled upwards, in parallel with similar-mode_ _Skywarp. To crude optics they were flawless, but neither Megatron's nor Soundwave's were of those. Easily they caught a strangely empty part of their dancing sequences, as if waiting to be filled..._

But it would never be filled now, and Soundwave knew it. Megatron's thoughts then were similar to his; that it was Starscream's role to perfect the unfinished, because this dance was his.

_Out of the blue, a phantom began to appear among the jets still dancing to invisible tunes. A mere wisps of shaped smokes first, it began to take a more solid definition, sharper distinctive lines as nanokliks passed. All this while, Megatron's sorrow bled into this vision as if energon blood would when his Spark had been ripped off, a so intense emotion that it virtually made up the ghostly Seeker that now flew among its existing brethrens harmoniously. Colours spread on the unreal jet – red, blue and white – and suddenly, Starscream was among his wingmates again..._

It was not Starscream, Soundwave realized, but a creation of Megatron's processors to counter what reality lacked. His leader pursued perfection; without Starscream, this routine was meaningless, a show-off that held nothing for the watchers to savour. An imperfect art of a perfect Seeker.

_The not-Starscream flew in direction as Megatron had recalled from even older memories of their previous dances. As his flight became one with Thundercracker's and Skywarp's, the imperfection was mended and the sky was the witness of a shared joy between the sentient jets..._

Another flash of blinding white, and Soundwave discovered that the only optics that worked now were the pair that had been gazing patiently at Megatron in the rec. room. But it was far from over. Megatron's pain was still wracking his telepathy perceptions; with it, and from the ended vision from Megatron's mind, stemmed innumerable images, though flitting and brief in their passing, of Starscream as Megatron's memories recalled him...

_A laughing Starscream._

_A kneeling Starscream._

_A flying Starscream._

_A battling Starscream._

_A crying Starscream._

_Starscream, Starscream, Starscream..._

Soundwave's processors almost stalled at the overwhelming streams of mind-pictures that Megatron had unknowingly projected. Everywhere, every few nanokliks, the quiet longing interjected the streaming of the many Starscreams as the overlord's databanks conjured up various visual presentations of said Seeker. Soundwave suspected even Megatron himself was unaware of these trains of thoughts that his CPU generated, looking at how random and fast their appearances were. Had something like was actually his conscious thoughts, Soundwave guessed that Megatron would at least make them less clear; he was aware that his Commander had ceased shielding his mentality from his mind vorns ago when discovering the futility in such attempts, but there were still some measures that he could take if there happened to be something in his CPU that he wished to keep only to himself– such as confusing the real memories with imaginary ones, or holding back the emotions attached to his passing thoughts to make Soundwave's receptions inaccurate. This time though, he did none, verifying Soundwave's earlier guess that these were not Megatron's voluntary thoughts.

"Soundwave!"

The called mech barely had the strength to resist from jumping in his seat; luckily, Soundwave's faceplates were mostly hidden by his mask, and whatever reactions his optics gave were tempered by his visor. Engrossed in analyzing his Commander's mind, he was unaware of Megatron's attention which had been reverted from the datapads.

"My lord?" Soundwave's attempted recovery was quick and successful; his voice filter neutralized his tone so effectively that for all his leader knew, he might not have engaging in any activity at all when in fact, he had delved deeper than anyone had ever dared into Megatron's mind – and making a shocking discovery in the process.

"Do you hear me at all?"

"Yes, Lord Megatron." He would only invite Megatron's wrath if he said otherwise. Quickly, Soundwave probed the surface of the gun-former's mind, searching for the latest thought that was directed towards him. He found it. "Shockwave's progress will be monitored until it is finished."

For a brief nanoklik, Megatron's expression was unconvinced but apparently he decided to let it pass in the last moment instead; his suspicion was again buried deep within and he nodded his approval.

"There is nothing more to say. Dismiss," he commanded while handing back the report-datapads to Soundwave, who accepted them without a syllable spoken concerning the passive emotions still ruling much of the warlord's mind. Doing so could mean certain deactivation for Soundwave, especially when it concerned something seemingly far-reaching for a mech like Megatron.

When Soundwave exited the rec. room, he was mildly surprised to see that Frenzy was just outside – apparently he had been trying to eavesdrop on his and Megatron's meeting. He failed for sure because he forgot one little detail concerning this place – that it was fairly sound-proof. Soundwave's perceptions were unable to notice him in the tumults of more powerful, more significant thoughts of Megatron, and the door was closed all the time.

"So, boss..."

"Cease question. No details available. Meeting contents: Irrelevant for Frenzy's knowledge," Soundwave answered straight-away. It was true; more to the point though, he was aware that the Casetticon was hoping to know anything else that might be a good point to be gossiped about. Rumble, who was likely present at the time of contact between Shockwave and Megatron, might have conveyed rough pictures of what had happened between them.

Frenzy dropped the subject immediately. He knew that interrogating Soundwave would only lead to blind ends, but he was tempted to try nevertheless. And as was usual, his attempt was in vain.

"I guess I've got to get going then, boss. Duty calls," and the little mech sprinted away from the place, seeing that no further information could be obtained from his master-cassette.

Soundwave did not bother to reply; he knew perfectly well that Frenzy had nothing tasked to him right now and that he was likely to head back to the mess hall and resumed his fun-making. It worked for him because the uninterrupted silence suit him well since it would boost his CPU-processing greatly.

The corridor was empty of other mechs, allowing Soundwave more freedom to turn his thoughts inward. What he had just experienced in the rec. room was something that he should not have allowed happening, but he could do nothing about it now – and furthermore, Megatron was not aware of the little spying he had done back there. More of significance, though, was the fact that his leader was experiencing distresses so intense that his circuitries could be damaged if this situation prolonged. Desensitized by years of wars and hardships even before he founded the Decepticon, Megatron apparently did not notice this hidden threat within him – or if he did, he was not in the know of its source.

Soundwave knew, though. He might serve under the tyrannical servo of Lord Megatron, but Soundwave was not he, and therefore, he was far from being blind to emotional needs. There was only one reason why had such alien feelings were attached to the memories of the Command Trinemembers' performance this morning, and why Megatron's databanks pulled out associated memories upon the recollection of it. Lord Megatron, self-proclaimed soon-to-be Master of the Universe, the Conqueror of Cybertron, the Raider of Earth, the sadistic Decepticon Supreme Commander, had finally, unconsciously, succumbed to the primal force of basic instincts.

Starscream's loss meant more to Megatron, in ways that neither could have predicted...


	6. Chapter 6

"Isn't it Bee'sturn to do the job today?" Sideswipe grumbled to Prowl as they stood just outside the public washing rack. He had only finished his morning wash when they spotted the Datsun approaching him and his twin brother just as they were about to leave for some driving in the city.

Prowl, arms crossed together upon his chest-piece – which also served as the front bumper when the SIC reverted to his vehicular form – gazed at the Lambo-twins with critical optics that spoke his irritation as plainly as the flicks of his doorwings indicated.

"Haven't I told you before, and reminded you at least five times after that, that this is your punishments for breaking about sixteen general rules during your outing last quartex? Besides, other Autobots are still recovering from the recent battles and of them all, you both recuperate the quickest. If you can't do even that small a favour to –"

"– Okay, alright, fine! I'll do whatever you say – just don't fry my audios anymore with your lecture. Jeez!" The red Lamborghini interjected, servos lifted in gesture of defeat when he noticed the prelude of Prowl's lengthy talks and advices which usually would last more than 4 breems. It might not have sounded too long, but Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had long been in the know how tedious it was to listen to Prowl's talks. At his side, Sunstreaker did not feign the groan of disappointment upon knowing where this 'conversation' was heading to.

"I am not intending to harm your audios, Sideswipe, only to fix your manners. If you have kept to the rules you will not be in this situation; you brought this upon yourself, you know," Prowl replied almost monotonously; indeed, this routine of informing either of the twins – and sometimes both of them at a time, like now – had became a constant job for Prowl almost every single orn that it bored the police car like nothing else could.

"Well, yeah...but you know us, Prowly. Maybe once in a while you could just let us go...? We can have a cube or two instead..." Sunstreaker's regretful tone changed into a naughty purr at the tail of his sentence; blue optics flashed in an almost seductive rhythm. Sideswipe, recognizing the lead of his yellow twin, synchronized his actions with Sunstreaker's readily and gave a not-very-innocent smile to the police-patroller. Perhaps they had better luck this time?

Apparently, though, their tactics did not work as well as the Lambo-twins hoped. Prowl, noticing right away what Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were up to, felt heat circulating in his systems instantaneously. His optic ridge was lowered, giving his optics a more slanted, hawk-like appearance to his already-tight expressions. The elegant doorwings were now perched high on his back, reflecting the anger that had engulfed his CPU with the strength of a hurricane. He was not that kind of mech who abandoned responsibility in the name of brief pleasures!

"Enough. You and you; Get out. Serve your punishments. _Now_!" Prowl was not yelling – only in several occasions did his voice ever reached high enough volume to be considered that save for during battles – but he was _very _close to it just now. A yelling Prowl was an angry Prowl, and nobody wanted to be anywhere within a megamile-radius from the Datsun if he was in his fiery mood.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were well-versed in the matters of Prowl's tone and body languages by now, having been confronted by him every time they break a rule or pulling practical jokes on their fellow Autobots. Right now, there was no question to it that if they did not do as was told, the troubles that would follow would be bigger than they could handle. There were few mechs who could unnerve them from doing whatever they desired – one of them was the very Datsun-former that stood before them.

"See ya', Prowl!" Sunstreaker shouted over his shoulder-plate as he and his red twin took off at high speeds – even in their root-mode, their Lambo-forms still lent their incredible horsepower for occasions such as these.

Only when they were sure that they were well away from the Autobot's Second's sensory ranges did they slowed down their paces. Their intakes kicked into life, cooling turbines spinning deep within their frames at full capacity to lower down their heated internals from all the running.

"Nice try, Sunny. It worked WONDERS on Prowl," Sideswipe sneered once he was coherent enough to vocalize, thumping his fist teasingly against Sunstreaker's back plating.

Sunstreaker stumbled a step forward before regaining back his stability just as fast. "Just trying our luck, bro. Who knows, maybe some orn he'll loosen his tight bolts a little..."

"Yeah, he will," Sideswipe gave a derisive snort, "In another 50 million vorns."

"Looks like we're stuck with that crazy mecha-butterfly for now," the yellow Lambo moaned in desperation at the prospect of serving Prowl's dictation, a feeling that was echoed by the red brother.

"Got any spare audio-coverings?"

"Nope. We'll just have to offline our audios – our only choice."

The corridor that the Lamborghinis were walking along was not as frequently used by the majority of Autobots – because detention brigs were located at the very end of it, deep in the heart of the Ark where security was the tightest compared to the other parts in the spaceship. It was not as dark as Nemesis's prisons, but the illumination was not very helpful either. Even with their mechanical vision which was many times better than a human's eyes, the furthest that a Cybertronian could see never exceeded more than a hundred Cybertronian metres.

Though this area was kept under vigilant watch from the Command Deck via the numerous closed-circuits surveillance cameras, guarding mechs would be placed for extra security measures if there brigs were occupied by captured enemies and not merely guilty or offensive Autobots under punishments. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were among the frequent visitors here whenever Prowl managed to catch them red-handed, but this orn they were not here as the detainees.

This time, they were here as the appointed guards to keep watch on one of the brig – a brig with Starscream as its occupant.

Two orns had passed since the unfortunate incident with Perceptor. The Autobot Scientist suffered no lasting side-effects, but he would be in discomfort for a few orns from undergoing surgical operations to mend his severed arm back to his chassis. Rewiring of limbs would take time, but overall he was doing well with it. Now under strict observation from Ratchet himself, Perceptor could be considered lucky looking at the circumstances that head lead him into his current condition – but the same could not be said for his offender.

Starscream, though had been rendered harmless thanks to Mirage's, Skyfire's and Prowl's efforts, the Optimus-led counter-strike team received the news of it with little relief. Ironhide's reactions were especially extreme; had Optimus Prime did not step in to interfere, it was doubtful that Starscream would have even an inch of his chassis intact. However, a few of them did manage to steal a few hits or two; Cliffjumper, for example. He had been itching to give the Seeker a piece of his mind since the very beginning and had successfully kicked him on the side when none was looking. Bluestreak had let out dirty-worded curses no Autobot had ever thought him to be capable of while Brawn did not hide his punch-to-the-face at all. The whole things would have spiralled out of control if not for the combined efforts of Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz and surprisingly, Skyfire which prevented the rest of the Autobots from turning into a crazed mob.

It was clear that Starscream no longer belonged in the med-bay so Prowl had arranged for the Seeker to be locked in the detention brig – a fate that some of the Autobots had judged to be unworthy of the offense, but the leaders were adamant in their stands to not taking a heavier course of action. Optimus Prime could be reasoned with, but the Autobots in general respect his judgements and so contented themselves with his decision. Ever since then, Prowl had arranged for each of the Autobots to keep watch at the Decepticon's prison 2 joors at a time so that Starscream could be kept under their guards around the clock – though, as a punishment to the twins' rule-breaking, they had to spent another 2 joors extra at the detention brig.

Aside from the prisoner s themselves, to be allowed in detention brigs area required confirmed voice recognition and passwords. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had both, and after giving the security systems what they were asked for, the main door slid aside to admit their entries. The Lamborghinis wanted very badly to leave – no sane mech wanted to anywhere near a traitorous mech even for Decepticon's standard, nor hearing the wrong-pitched voice that guaranteed CPU meltdown if exposed excessively to it. It was why Sunstreaker had risked bribing Prowl with whatever he wanted previously if it meant escape from having to be in Starscream's vicinity even though he knew that the probability of it failing was Everest-high.

To their surprises, though, the hisses of the door sliding open was not followed by high-pitched, shouted cussing that they had came to expect since Starscream was placed in here. Instinctively, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe mirrored each other in heightening their audios to catch any sound at all that characterized the Seeker's presence – in contrast to what they were doing before, which was desensitizing their hearing in expectation of processors-shattering shriek. They heard nothing at all.

"Uh, Siders? You thinking what I'm thinking?" It was Sunstreaker who finally broke the uncustomary silence.

"Yep, I'm definitely thinking what you're thinking. But it can't be what we're thinking that's happening, right?"

Concern washed over them at the shared notions. The detention brigs had seen very few successful escape attempts from Autobots and Decepticons alike. Any breach would be instantly sent to Red Alert in the Command Centre. Beside, Ratchet had done the extra mile by rationing down Starscream's energon intake to keep him functioning and conscious, but low enough to prevent struggles or fights.

Being twins, they guessed each other's thoughts readily; as one, they reached into their sub-spaces and pulled out their standard laser guns – just in case. Twins functioned best with one another since they were literally a Spark in two separate bodies that had somehow developed their own sentience and yet still intimately linked to one another. It was deeper even than the Seeker bond between trinemembers, second in intimacy only to Sparkbond. Between these two, who even as an individual were formidable soldiers themselves, little things could pose sufficient threat to them, but a loose Decepticon like Starscream was not something to be underestimated at all, especially after the demonstration of his capability on Perceptor.

Carefully, they 'tip-toed' towards the jail that supposedly held Starscream inside, guns pointed out and digits ready on the trigger. There was no sound coming from it that served to heighten their vigilance...though soon they found that their extra carefulness was rather unnecessary.

When Sideswipe took his chance to peek into the brig, he was surprised to find the Seeker was, in fact, still in there. Still in the same condition, Starscream's servos had been freed for his convenience, but one of his pedes was stasis-cuffed to the wall, though the length of the energy-chains was sufficient to enable movements in his cell. There were still no wings visible extending out from the either side of his back, those appendages still under construction and were yet to be finished by Skyfire and Wheeljack, the latter having promised to have them ready in not more than a quartex. As of now, Starscream looked rather ridiculous – and not to mention funny – without those proud sheets of white metals to decorate his back, and ultimately, his entire being. The overall appearance almost always prompted laughter whenever an Autobot happened to lay their optics on the Seeker, but Sunstreaker and Sideswipe did not found humour in the present view of said Decepticon flyer since their systems were now fully tuned in alert mode, giving no room for anything but seriousness to seep into their CPUs. However, the door had radiated an assurance of somewhat that told the Lambo-twins that they were not in immediate threats from Starscream; magnetically locked, it was intact and held no signs of recent abuses, signalling that the broken Air Commander had stopped his kicking and punching and hitting at the innocent door for quite some time.

The Seeker's helm lifted at the sound of approaching pede steps – apparently the twins had not dampened their coming enough to avoid Starscream's audio detection – and sneered. "What? Surprised I'm still in here?"

Sideswipe relaxed his grip on the laser gun but his battle circuits, still very much peaking with activities, made him kept his gun in the ready position. "Well, you've been silent. What else could we've thought?"

"You know you can put those guns down now. I won't be going anywhere, Autobot," Starscream snorted; he was obviously angry, but at the same time determined to keep his sarcasm intact.

"Like I'm going to believe that. Heh, just a little opening and you would've gone. And it's Sideswipe you're talking to," the red Lambo's massive ego resurfaced with fierce intensity when faced with this arrogant Seeker. Sideswipe was not going to let Starscream had free reigns with his vocalizer, even though the rest of him had been physically secured – but he did shifted his aim elsewhere, realizing that the weapon was not needed for the time being.

"Oh, believe, _Sideswipe._" The way he intoned the Autobot's designation made it clear that it was the only right of his that Starscream would admit to – and nothing else. How the Seeker was going to behave in Sideswipe's presence was not of anybody else's concern. "This place is just too _lovely_, I'll sorely miss it if I leave."

"It's lucky that we didn't deactivate you!" It was Sunstreaker, finally losing his inner battles whether or not to bicker with this Decepticon, "Prime might spare your life, but don't count too much if we can make the final call!"

"So, the yellow one is here too?" Starscream's smirk widened, but his optics were now as red as freshly-spilled blood, flaring intensely from his irritation. "Hmmph, and you want _me _to _thank _you for putting me in here? That's a very _logical_ thing to do."

"Why you –!"

"Sunny, that's enough! We're just wasting time arguing with him! Our vocalizers worth more than for talking to this Decepti-creep!" Sideswipe found himself stepping in front of Sunstreaker so that his chassis would shield his twin's optics from the view of Starscream, his servo clasping tight at the laser gun to hold it down from taking aim towards the Seeker.

"But –"

"It's-Not-Worth-It! You know it so!" He insisted, and it paid off; Gradually, Sunstreaker stopped struggling in the red twin's hold, growing more relaxed as Sideswipe's reasoning took its effect on him. Even though he longed to make Starscream paid for his rudeness, he knew that quarrelling solved nothing in this case. He gave a weak nod of agreement towards Sideswipe, admitting the truth in the red's words. Sidewipe freed the other's servo when given this assurance, and the gun was lowered down.

From within the cell, a shriek-like laughter bounced off the metal walls, amplifying it to volume greater than even Starscream's incredible vocalizer could reach. When the maniacal sounds faded off, the Air Commander commented with mocking tone, "Hah, too scared to fight off a captured enemy? And you call yourself soldiers in this war!"

Sunstreaker's chassis jerked in an attempted initiation to strike – at that moment, even the electrocuting energy bars that separated him from the flyer seemed meaningless, and all that ever mattered was the urge inside him to teach Starscream a lesson he would never dare to forget – but Sideswipe, though clearly just as stung at the sneering, remained unmoving. Taking strength from his calmer twin, Sunstreaker exhaled a gust of heated air through his vents in order to release his steadily-building anger and forced himself into neutral stance again.

"No, we're not scared. But, like Sideswipe had said before, it's just not worth it," the yellow Lamborghini replied; his voice was tinged with irritation still, but it was a lot calmer than before. The red brother smiled at Sunstreaker's success in restraining his anger and threw a triumphant grin in Starscream's direction.

The smirk fanned Starscream's wrath easily; optics flashing with threatening redness, a surprisingly low growl (though still rather high-pitched in general) escaped the vocalizer. "Don't you _dare_ mock me, Autobots!"

This time, neither of the Lamborghinis fell for the challenge, having been prepared for similar traps. Executing a loose, whatever-you-say-I-don't-care-at-all shrug in plain sight of Starscream, Sideswipe turned his back towards the enraged jet-former and addressed his yellow twin instead:

"Hey, Sunny, I've brought a holo-board game with us. I figured it's better for us to pass times by playing with something rather than hearing to Screamer. What d'ja say?"

"Sounds good to me!" Sunstreaker intoned, enthusiasm honestly voiced along with the answer. Indeed, banters with Starscream held nothing to look forward to compared to spending more times with his twin-brother, playing their favourite games from their Sparklinghoods while still under terms of Prowl's punishments.

The two Lamborghinis raced each other towards a nearby desk; three chairs were prepared for whoever mech that happened to be on guard duty, while a segmented rack placed at the side held many datapads with various genres written upon them, meant to be read by the guards if they felt like it while they were here. Upon the chairs the twin sat facing each other from across the table while delicately placing their laser guns at the base of the desk as a minimal precaution, though situations that required those weapons seemed very unlikely to arise now. Sideswipe then drew out the mentioned game; basically a high-paced, highly advanced chess, it was a game that they both enjoyed the most after Virtual Simulators. Soon, the Lamborghinis started moving the virtual pieces across the holo-board, projected by a compact hologram generator placed upon the desk. Lost in their current entertainments, the clashes they just had with Starscream were swiftly forgotten.

A groan from within the prison caught their attentions just as Sunstreaker was about to obliterate a whole army of Sideswipe's virtual pieces; both Lamborghinis reached out to grab their respective guns out of reflex, but it turned out that Starscream was only grumbling out of discomfort to have his pede secured to the wall. The Seeker spared an astrosecond's worth of glare upon feeling optics scrutinizing his movements and gave a murderous scowl in their directions. Their optics were locked upon each other only for a fraction of a klik, but the tense that sprouted from it seemed to heat up the entire brig area with dissatisfaction, primarily from the wingless flyer.

Then, apparently worn out from their quarrels, Starscream averted his gaze away from the Autobots and scooted back to the far wall of his cell, energy-chain dragging after him soundlessly, and sat with his back against it. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe exchanged questioning glances at the lack of hostility, and shrugged. When they looked back into the energy-barred cell, the Seeker had drawn up his knees to his cockpits and wrapped his arms round them, helm dropping upon the peak of a knee-pad, completely ignoring the incredulous looks the twins shared with each other.

"You know, Siders? Maybe we should keep an optic on him...we never know what Screamer's up to." As if to emphasize his concern, Sunstreaker held his laser gun tighter.

"Agreed," and Sideswipe too mimicked his golden twin's actions.

But their 4 joor-shift passed away silently, and their guns were cold from inactivity.

**XXXXX**

It was the sound of metallic knuckles ramming against the door that had woken Skyfire up.

It wasn't even a loud banging; only a soft _knock-knock_ that it was not at all surprising for even a wide-awake mech to NOT notice it. But Skyfire did; even though he was in recharge, such delicate sounds did not escape his sensitive audios. It took a few nanokliks for his processors to online and his sensors to flare back to active reception. Confusion swept him for a few moments when his optics registered the surroundings to be belonging not to his own living quarters, but that of Wheeljack's workshop; and instead of lying on his large berth to accommodate his above-than-average size, he was slouched in a modest chair before a datapads-littered working desk with his helm resting upon its surface delicately, surrounded in the confines of his crossed arm.

"Skyfire? Are you in there?"

A familiar voice penetrated through the haze of recharge just as his CPU finished rebooting; now refreshed, the shuttle stretched almost humanly-looking in his seat to encourage the circulation of lubrication oil to smoothen his stiff joints. Transformers did not yawn, strictly speaking, but the equivalent of it was a large gulping of air through their external intakes, serving to kick-start their cooling systems which would induce their other processes to follow suit, just like what Skyfire was doing. With his recharge-sluggishness partially banished, he remembered what had happened that led him to accidentally fall into the Cybertronian version of sleeping in this unsuitable place. He also realized that the voice calling from behind the workshop's door belonged to a certain mech whom he had knitted a close friendship with.

Swivelling his chair around to face the entrance, he called out, "Come in, Ratchet."

At the invitation, the sliding door shifted sideways and the Autobot CMO stepped into Wheeljack's territory once the opening was large enough for him to pass through. For a mech who spent most of his time in the med-bay, where repairing injured Autobots was an almost non-stop job, Ratchet was surprisingly clean-looking, in contrast to a majority of medics that Skyfire ever encountered back on Cybertron whose chasses were usually stained with their patients' energon blood or other fluid-discharges. The fact that they had not undergone battles contributed largely to Ratchet's appearance today, but he was still magnificent in his own way. There was no sunlight that could penetrate the inside of the Ark saved for a few sites where windows or other similar openings were installed, but the lighting made his armours gleamed as if recently waxed. The sharp contrast of his red servos and hip-plating against the stark-white chassis added an exotic tinge to his overall appearance. Although different in build with those of the Praxians – Prowl, Bluestreak and Smokescreen – the Chief Medic also sported a chevron upon his brow-shields, though his was black in colour and proportionately bigger than the Datsuns'. The expression that graced his faceplates was usually severe, owing to the seriousness his duty demanded of him but this time, he was calm and serene-looking; it was rare to see Ratchet like this, but the few times he had seen him so always calmed Skyfire somewhat.

"Ratchet... I'm surprised that you are here," the shuttle-former's mumbling still contained traces of 'sleepiness' – his vocalization ability was always the last to recover after a recharge cycle.

Ratchet approached the huge flyer and sat down on a chair beside him. "You don't look very well-maintained," he observed.

Skyfire shook his helm dismissively in indication that it was not of serious concern. "It's nothing, Ratchet. I'm fine."

Said medic eyed him with his optics; at close scrutiny, Skyfire couldn't help but notice their finer features. Until now, he had not realized that he had smaller optic-to-body size ratio than most mechs, meaning that those sensory equipments were a notch bigger than others' where their body sizes were concerned. The blue in them was also softer than Optimus Prime's glow in the default intensity, having the colour of fine skies on a sunny day.

At this moment, those optics were looking at him critically; Skyfire had a funny buzzing in his logic circuits that he was about to get a lecture or two from the medic; Instead, he was taken by surprise when Ratchet extended his servo, palm-up, towards the shuttle.

"Give me your servo."

"Why?" The question was automatic, and it somehow irritated the CMO.

"Oh, for Primus's sake – just let me do my job!" and the white-red mech grabbed hold of Skyfire's nearer limb.

Another surprise hit the shuttle when he discovered that Ratchet's grasp was in contrast to his sharp tones; the red servo that was latched to his own was rather gentle, and the surface was smooth despite the many battles the owner must have gone through. His vocalizer let out a tiny gasp when he felt a strange tingle spreading from the point of contact, quickly transforming into a pleasant warmth as it washed all over his internals. He knew instantly what was going on; among Cybertronians, some were Sparked with tendencies towards certain aspects more than others. Ratchet was one among those few specials, endorsed with a unique medical gift through his servos. Under those palms and lining the light armours of his digits were sensors more numerous than those found on regular mechs to detect internal abnormalities that might be present in his subjects; a single touch was enough for him to send through his patient temporary detection software to locate deeper malfunctions which were invisible to physical observation. It was a useful ability in this ever-changing war, where the demands of battlefields usually denied medics from the luxury of having the more advanced repairing tools at their immediate disposal – Ratchet's specialized servos could carry out emergency check-ups as good as any portable equipment. He was doing just that to Skyfire at the moment.

"Your systems appear to be in strains, Skyfire. How long have you neglected your recharge cycle?" The CMO's inquiry came immediately after the warmth in his systems dissipated into neutrality; the check-up program was pre-set to fail once it had done its job and the reports had been downloaded into Ratchet's databanks.

"I've just awaken from one."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge at the simple answer. "So you do," he replied but his expression only hardened when he continued, "but you and I know that is not proper. You can't cheat your doctor, you know."

Skyfire's vents hitched in nervous surprise at the accusation, but at the same time he was fairly amused by this situation he was getting into; how many times had Optimus Prime told him that it was often unwise at all to disobey a medic's order? With Ratchet, it would double the risks – being in the rank of elite medics, the ambulance-former had knowledge and experiences concerning medical fields that far surpassed his comrades, making him almost impossible to fail in his verdicts. This raised the unwritten-yet-universally-known-law that the CMO's words were mandatory effective on all Autobots.

"I...I'm not sure. I think it was two orns ago since I last recharged – properly, as you put it."

Skyfire had been expecting Ratchet to be angry, but it turned out that he had badly understating it when he saw the intense brightening of his optics and the almost comical 'O' his mouth components were forming.

"Two... – For Primus's sake, are you trying to work yourself to STASIS LOCK?" Rachet's low-curved voice suddenly rose in volume, creating echoes in the closed space of the workshop. Its incredible loudness shattered the last fragment of recharge-induced haze that still lingered in his systems to be replaced by complete awareness – and alert at Ratchet's reactions.

"Ratchet – It's not as bad as it sounds. Besides, I was just lost in my works that I've lost track of the time..." Skyfire's explanation trailed off; the shuttle had no fear for the medic, they being fast friends easily after his defection to the Autobot but the critical optics that the CMO was directing at him was unnerving. Another reason why no one dared to disobey his medical commandment.

"And what are these that keep you busy enough to ignore your own well-being? It can't be Starscream's wings – Wheeljack said that you have finished with the blueprints orns ago."

"Well – actually, yes, it is. I've done with the designs – but I still need more times to figure out the modified wiring. I've mapped about 70% of it – I'll have to guess the rest..."

Ratchet's raised optic ridge told Skyfire that something in his statements was puzzling to the CMO. The ambulance let out an almost imperceptible sigh through his vents and replied, this time with a voice that was surprisingly concerned, "Look, I get it that you want to get the wings repaired as soon as possible, seeing that Starscream is –" The white-red mech paused to instinctively look around, though it was known to both that no other mech was there in the workshop, " – is your friend...but you have to think for yourself first."

Now it was Skyfire's turn for bewilderment. "Hmm? That's strange coming from someone who goes all the way to help everyone else regardless of his own condition..."

What happened next was completely unpredictable to Skyfire's logic parameters: Ratchet's fuming reached a whole new level, springing up to his pedes as if a cable being snapped into backlash. His expression was that of a bitterness that his next words could only convey in part.

"I am a medic, Skyfire! My responsibility demands my sacrifice – and I'll gladly give my Spark for its cause – but your situation is different! Starscream is in no critical damages now, and even if he is, his wings are not vital for his functioning – your actions are honourable, but unnecessary!"

Skyfire was honestly taken aback by the sudden outburst – as if he had unwittingly brushed a part of his medic-friend that was vulnerable to such petty comments. He had not expected it then, and the emotional responses made bloom a sense of great regret that rendered the shuttle momentarily awkward in making an appropriate reply.

Apparently, Ratchet too had come to recognize the peculiarity of his behaviours and was feeling the same thing as Skyfire did. His intakes whirred loudly in the silence of the workshop in counter-action to his heated internals. He sat down with a huff of expelled air, a melancholic sigh escaping the oral passage.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Skyfire. I don't know what has gotten into me..."

The huge shuttle dragged his chair closer to Ratchet's and placed a servo on the medic's slumped shoulder-plates. The gesture was simple but Ratchet's smile spoke of his appreciation better than his vocalizer.

"Don't worry about that, Ratchet. It's my fault too – I shouldn't have commented so freely on your doing. Say...what does the doctor have to say to this patient?"

Ratchet's smile evolved into a quiet chuckle; with his red servo he lifted Skyfire's own from his chassis and gave a short squeeze, an unspoken gratitude being conveyed via the painless pressure he applied. Blue optics found the other, smaller pair, and the quiet companionship they had been providing each other from the orn they first met after Skyfire's de-frosting on the ice-shelf, flowed to each other through the seemingly insignificant contacts.

"Get yourself a decent recharge, Skyfire, or you'll be too exhausted to do anything right. I'm sure that you'll still be able finish the mapping in time," Ratchet replied; his voice had regained its smooth curves once more so that no trace of remorse was audible in it.

"Alright...but I'm curious; Aren't you supposed to be looking after Perceptor?"

"I am, but it turns out that he is doing just fine. Perceptor's condition is as good as I could have hoped. All that I need to do about him is to check him daily, and Wheeljack has offered to help me in this," he explained.

"Glad to hear it," and Skyfire meant it. Perceptor was another 'bot that he could converse freely to, owing to the fact that they shared their interests in science. "Thanks for the advice, Ratchet. I'll see it through – just let me finish a few more diagrams..."

Ratchet was very close to denying the request, but the pleading note the white shuttle had unconsciously inserted into his reply melted the CMO's resolve. Rather grumpily, he said, "Fine – but recharge IMMEDIATELY when you're done with it or..."

"You don't need the 'or', though; I'll make sure of it," Skyfire's laughter rang alongside his answer; his humbleness shielded the shuttle from realizing it, but his voice in amusement was music to many of the Autobots' audios – including Ratchet's. At the sound of it, had Skyfire paid more attention to his friend, he would notice the small smile tugging at the corner of his lip components, and the relaxed stance his limbs had taken. As it was, he was not aware of the subtle reactions he had on the medic.

"Looks like I'm unneeded here, then – unless, of course, you require a little assistance?"

"No, thanks. It just needs a little more observing and guessing, that's all. Besides, you already have your servos full."

"Not much at the moment. Still, if you need anything, just comm. me. In any case, I'll be in the med-bay," the white-red mech informed as he made to stand. Ratchet's back was already turned to Skyfire when he wheeled around. There was a moment's hesitation on the CMO's part, and a calming intake of air through his vents before he spoke, "By the way, Skyfire...I think it's better if you get down to the brig once in a while. I've heard from the twins that Starscream has turned...quiet. Of course, nobody's really complaining about it and it might not prove to be anything at all...but this is STARSCREAM we're talking about."

And with that, Ratchet exited the workshop without another word spoken, leaving a dazed Skyfire in his wake.

_Starscream...quiet?_ The shuttle thought with dread. Coldness spread in his neural networks – a phantom feeling that was triggered by the worry accumulating in his circuits, but it felt like real. A lethargic Starscream might be a joke to the other Autobots...a relief maybe, from hearing his characteristic voice, but the Autobot flyer knew that it signalled a far worse condition than simple exhaustion...

_No, definitely not from it_, he concluded. There was only one occasion when he had seen him reduced into the state of depression so severe that he was bereft from his motivation to speak out loud. And it was when Skyfire saw Starscream for the first time, his Spark so terribly wounded and his spirit broken that it was as if life meant nothing more to him. Had his capture finally taken a toll on the hardy Seeker? He could not know unless he spoke to him – and Ratchet's idea to visit the Decepticon flyer seemed suddenly plausible despite his initial resistance to not be in contact with the jet-former again. He was hurting enough already from the guilt of having to assist in Starscream's recapture, but it was what must be done. The Autobots came first no matter what; his personal affairs would have to take a back seat.

Now, though...he couldn't shake the notion that he was the cause, somehow, in putting Starscream into this misery. The guilt that had been festering within him now engulfed his CPU mercilessly, leaving him helpless against the tortures from his conscience.

_Primus...what had he done?_

**XxXx**

_Starscream was awake._

For the whole orn, this was the single sentence that repeatedly ran in Megatron's CPU to the point that he could barely process much of anything else. He had been aware of it ever since he broke the recharge cycle last night, and it was not because of any part of Starscream's – rather, it was the absence of the usual 'nightmares' that had triggered Megatron to this conclusion. His assumption was further confirmed when the memory drive itself had validated it – the link connecting his and Starscream's meta-processors was no longer tenuous or hazy, but as sharp as the orn he first made to delve into the Seeker's CPU.

However, this realization came without bringing with it the expected relief because what Megatron had received through Starscream's sensory perceptions – mainly his optics – was of nothing that he could celebrate upon. There was no mistaking that the captured Air Commander was detained; the small space with energy-bars separating the chamber from the outside was unquestionably a brig of the Autobot's the Ark. Chain and pede-cuff restricted his movements but the one of the biggest depression that Megatron sensed from the Seeker was from the fact that he had been stripped of his prized wings. The silver mech had been aware that those flight appendages were of great value to the Seekers, but never had he expected to depth of their importance to Starscream's kind. The wings did not just make mastery over the sky possible, they were also the very defining features of their owners, their identities. Without them, there would be no Seeker ethnic...because all that they would ever be without their flying capabilities were nothing more than average mechs.

Megatron was in pain – but from Starscream, not of his own self. Stiff joints that the Seeker developed was also felt by the warlord; under-energizing that led him to perpetual dispiritedness affected the Decepticon Supreme Commander so much that he could feel weakness spreading in his structures whenever the memory drive was activated. During those periods, he shared Starscream's sensors as well as his feelings and the gun-former actually experienced the flyer's ingrained claustrophobia with the vastness of the sky being denied from him for so long. This fear was a strange, new sensation for the Decepticon overlord since he had never been exposed to it, him being a ground-model who never had either the need or the urge for heavens. It irritated him at first, but the longer he shared his meta-processors with the distant flyer, the more understandable the situation became. Sometimes, it even led him to wondering Starscream's true extent regarding his patience; being locked up in the Nemesis's prisons was almost a routine for Starscream every few quartexes – if not orns – to undergo. Under the charge of assaulting his higher officer – that was Megatron himself – and treacheries, the silver mech had made his SIC to cringe up in his small jail for orns at times. Starscream never showed any sign of his fear of confined space except for the barest of hints...and to be able to hide discomfort at that magnitude required self-restraints that were as powerful as Megatron's himself.

Several Decepticon mechs passed by their leader as Megatron made his groggy way along one of the many hallways of Nemesis, mumbling scared _good morning, sir_ as they did. The gun-former barely heard their greetings - those few that managed to reach his audios were answered with a simple nod of acknowledgement. With his CPU dominated with the thoughts of Starscream, even his surroundings took a back seat in priority; scarce images that Megatron had collected through the Seeker's optics played and replayed in his processors ceaselessly, logic circuits drinking in every detail and analyzing them with greedy anxiety. He wanted to know, to learn everything that he could from the information the memory drive supplied, but there was so little that was taught and the details of Starscream's imprisonment was shaded from his knowledge.

The prowling that Megatron was doing was not exactly an obligation, but it had became somewhat a habit of his that he could not shake off – after all, doing so meant that he would be in contact with his soldiers and he was aware of the respect-fear-adoration his underlings held for him. Appearing in their midst encouraged these feelings and hence reducing the possibility of disloyalty. Usually, knowing that he had such affects with his mere presence made him proud; this time, however, the pride was replaced by annoyance. He wanted to learn more of Starscream's condition and not working to heighten his already-present sovereignty the Decepticons had for him. When Megatron arrived at the Command Centre of the Nemesis, he made his way straight for his throne and placed himself upon it; there was no one else in there, with the next-shift mech on monitor duty was yet to begin his schedule. Silence reigned in the heart of Nemesis for a while that it was as if nobody, not even Megatron, was there in the Command Centre...until once again the door slid open and Thundercracker and Skywarp entered, walking abreast.

The slumped pose Megatron initially adopted was re-adjusted into a more proud stance appropriate for a tyrant like him. Furthermore, he was intrigued by them appearing before him – the Seekers usually relied on Starscream as their Air Commander as a herald. Without the colourful Seeker, the task fell to Thundercracker to perform...but with Skywarp at his side, there was something in their overall coming that indicated of purposes outside of the concern of Decepticon army. Subconsciously, he wondered whether this had anything to do with their ex-Air Commander.

Thundercracker was in the lead, stepping in front of his purple trinemate slightly in emphasizing his higher rank. Megatron took a more relaxed pose for he did not want to reveal to the Seekers his mounting interest of their intentions while the flyers approached his throne, careful to stop about an arm's length away from the royal steps that had only have Megatron's pedes ascending them. Before their mighty leader, none dared to meet him optic-to-optic, and the traditional bow of homage that Thundercracker and Skywarp gave was in part out of fear. Only after Megatron vocalized his order of "Report," did they lifted their helms though their optics were fixed anywhere else save from the leader's own.

Thundercracker's hesitation was obvious; Skywarp was dangerously close to fidgeting, something that Megatron had never remembered him doing. While Thundercracker had a reputation of being –arguably – the most cautious of them three, Skywarp was reckless and the sort of mech who leapt first before you got to think of something – his reactions these astroseconds spoke of something akin to consideration towards what they were about to speak, a proof of 'think first, then leap'. However, the delay was getting on Megatron's nerve clusters. In any case, he was never a mech with much patience in store.

"Well? I don't have all orn to wait for you two!" Megatron barked out, his harsh voice echoing in the Command Centre as if haunted by a thousand phantoms of said Decepticon. His servo reflected his annoyance automatically by thumping against the armrest that it had been gripping before.

Thundercracker, shocked at the sudden display of wrath, fell upon a knee-pad so fast that the impact caused a loud _thunk_ to resonate in the area. Skywarp's reaction was less chivalrous, jumping and looking suspiciously like he was about to teleport the Pit out of there, but a servo of his blue trinemate grasping Skywarp's pulled the purple jet-former down into similar position.

"I...We have a request to make, mighty Megatron."

Megatron's anger dissipated upon hearing it; it was Thundercracker's desperation that piqued the Commander's interest to what the Seekers wanted so much from him that they dared to risk such a bold move. "Hmm? What will it be, Thundercracker?"

Another hesitation, but apparently learning from past experiences, the blue-white Seeker quickly continued, "It's about Starscream, my lord."

For some reason, the name of his SIC, out from the vocalizer of other mech than himself, brought a new level of inward pain to the Decepticon Supreme Commander. It wasn't just a mere pang this time – his Spark ached as if being shocked by electricity. It was like the utterance of it made it somehow a reality when all these times it was just a very vivid nightmare. Megatron knew that it was a foolish notion – Starscream's capture was a reality undeniable by anyone and that he was running away from the frightening thought of it...

"What about Starscream?" Megatron struggled to remain expressionless – but the strain going on in his systems made him scowled instead.

"We...uh, we don't mean to question your leadership, Megatron sir, but...uh, you're aware that he – I mean, Starscream – has been captured and so –"

" – FOR PIT'S SAKE, THUNDERCRACKER, GET TO THE POINT – NOW! I HAVE MY WORKS TO DO SO HURRY UP AND LET'S GET THIS DONE WITH!"

Megatron had finally lost it; his roar reached even to the outside of Command Centre, vibrating through the corridors and nearby hallways with thunderous echoes, rattling loose plates in the walls in their passing. The warlord himself had stood up, his arm-mounted Fusion Cannon was upraised and the barrel, which was pointed in the general direction of the Seekers, was glowing with charges of the upcoming blast. The fear apparent on the flyers' faceplates brought no satisfaction – he wanted nothing more than to hear the rest of Thundercracker's statements, not pleas for his mercy! Right now, he was only interested in the flyers before him, who, out of shock and terror, had apparently fallen backwards and were now sitting on their afts.

Thundercracker regained his composure quicker – even though under the threatening glare of his enraged leader and the barrel of his Fusion cannon, the blue jet-former managed to gain enough stability to get back to the previous kneeling position. Skywarp seemed as if losing his spinal strut altogether until he took courage from his trinemate and assumed the same posture though if observed closely, one could still see the subtle shivering running through the purple-black frame.

"F-forgive us, mighty Megatron! But we beg you to carry out a rescue mission to free Starscream from the Autobots!"

Thundercracker spoke fast, practically blurting out those words even before he was truly ready to spill them – then stopped the trains of his thoughts with an anxious look plastered upon his faceplates. Skywarp reacted to the spontaneity with a slight wince, expecting blows from the Supreme Commander at the seemingly outrageous request. The two Seekers kept their heads lowered, but anticipating the worst consequences to their daringness...but they were willing to receive it if by asking would shed a ray of hope on the fate of their Air Commander.

But the assaults never came. Astroseconds passed with solid silence filling the gap between the question and the answer. The tension grew so unbearable that Skywarp, unable to hold himself anymore, lifted his helm to steal a peek at his leader...and discovered that Megatron had lowered his cannon-arm down. The Fusion Cannon had not been given the chance to reveal its devastative abilities on the Decepticon flyers, Megatron having discharged the barrel back to neutrality. From his expression, it was clear that something very worrisome was crossing the CPU of the silver mech, the red optics dulling in automatic response with whatever thoughts he was having at this very nanokliks.

Thundercracker's audios caught the barely-audible _thwank _of Megatron's aft slamming into the confines of his throne and risked a look at his formidable leader. Just as Skywarp was, he too was bewildered by the wildly oscillating moods of their leader. The irritation was still there, but his anger had taken second priority to...to whatever it was that his CPU was processing right now.

"...M-megatron...sir?"

The call had pulled the tyrant out of the involuntary processor-drifts. Megatron's optics stared at his Seekers and beyond, looking upon a view that none save the Decepticon Commander himself could see.

"Do you think that I have been offlining my optics to your trineleader, Thundercracker? Skywarp?" The silver mech began; his tone was flat and his expression unfathomable. "Starscream is a valuable asset to the Decepticon's cause...but I have other pressing needs that demand my full attention. Until everything else is done, we can do little but I will see to it that your trine will be re-completed. Dismiss."

Neither of the Command Trinemembers foresaw such an easy promise from their cold-Sparked leader. Thundercracker found his vocalizer incapable of speech for a split astrosecond before his logic circuits overpowered the bewilderment running rampant in his processors and croaked, "We...thank you for the consideration," before rising fully to his pedes. Skywarp followed suit afterwards and the two left the Command Centre with noticeably shaky steps.

Megatron waited for a klik to pass, ensuring that no mech was in the vicinity before letting out a tired sigh, both through his oral passage and his vents. Thundrecracker's request was like a steel rod being driven right through his cranial cavity – the shock it presented was unexpectedly severe. He was sure that Thundercracker had not meant it, but the Seeker's request was an accusation to the warlord, demanding answer of his delay in acting. It was not like Megatron did not wish to have Starscream back at his side, fighting alongside him – and the other Decepticons too – but the repairing works on Cybertron's Space Bridge generator, though distant, required coordination with his Earth-side force as well. Soundwave's reports on it poured in like spilled energon, and the overwhelming details buried him under thoughts of Cybertron and its safety. He played no particularly active role in it, but his permission was required every step of the way...and it was these petty matters that delayed him from something as important as Starscream.

Megatron groaned again, regretting his tardiness even though it was unavoidable. It had been too long his audios had not received feedbacks on the infamously shriek-like voice; it felt as if vorns had passed since he last saw the colourful frame strutting through the hallways on Nemesis. Everything about the Seeker seemed so distant...and yet the pain and shock of losing him was as real as if it had happened only last orn. A hiss escaped Megatron's gritted dentas as the familiar lurch his Spark gave whenever he happened to think – and long for – the ex-Air Commander...the pain that he was forced to be accustomed to ever since his terrible loss. Servos clutched right over the Decepticon insignia stamped upon his chest-armour, feeling the pain-induced heat warming up the spot where his Spark chamber was located.

"_Primus!_" Megatron whispered one last time before the pain was subdued by the sheer force of his will, but the sorrow lingered. It always did. His cooling fans kicked to life to reduce his core temperature, replacing the painful heat with soothing coolness. Now he was in desperate need – he required assurance that Starscream was still functioning...and more to the pint, he wanted to feel that the Seeker was nowhere far from him. He was lying to himself, but Megatron could not help the urge for connection. Ignoring the residual pricking sensations underneath his chest-piece, the Decepticon Commander leaned back into his throne, offline his optics and concentrated.

The memory drive responded to his mental prodding – its systems flared out of passivity and connected to Megatron's own like some dangerous spyware, a comparison that had disturbed Megatron on many occasions. Still, the need to feel himself connected to Starscream, no matter how abominable the link was, overcame his distaste; he let himself be lost in the surge of energy from the gadget in his head. An invisible link between the mechs' meta-processors was established in astroseconds, allowing Starscream's emotions, thoughts and sensory perceptions to flow through this one-way path, reaching Megatron's CPU in streams of data so abundant that even until now, he still had problems sifting through them. But he was getting better at it.

The gun-former ignored the underlying sensations and focused on the stronger, sharper feedbacks. They were the most recent, those that affected the Seeker most powerfully, as he had learned. When all in the appropriate places, he opened his other parts in his CPU and commenced downloading of views as processed by Starscream's optics. Of all the choices, he preferred visual feedbacks compared to the other means of surrounding perceptions as they were the easiest to discern. However, the warlord felt heats of anger surging from his Spark like a tidal wave and crashing upon his internal circuitries as Starscream's prison materialized before his own optics and discovered that there was an unpleasant addition to the usual scenery that had greeted him for innumerable previous times – a mech of whom he came to know under a very unpleasant situations.

Megatron had met him before and a few times after. He hated everything about him, from the intertwined pasts he had with Starscream to the betrayal he had committed the orn he was freed from his icy imprisonment. Megatron felt like he had aided Starscream to achieve the mech's resurrection for nothing. The dislike was obvious; the reason, however, was clouded. To Megatron, the mech's very existence filled the Decepticon's logic circuits with the sadistic drive to spill the mech's energon blood – and that was enough knowing for the Decepticon overlord.

"_Skyfire_," Megatron hissed with vehemence that even Optimus Prime himself had yet to manage in wrenching it out of the tyrant's vocalizer.

**XxXx**

If there was anything that Starscream hated more than the Autobots, it was him being captured _and _having his wings removed by them. Right now, he was experiencing the combination of those greatest dislikes of his; the depression that he was plunged into was straining against his dignity and patience, stretching them taut almost to the breaking point.

The brig that he was occupying had poor lighting, resulting in a gloomy-looking surrounding despite the time as indicated by his repaired chronometer. Mid-cycle, or afternoon as the Earthlings called it, was supposed to be the brightest and hottest time in the whole rotational sequence of this planet, but in here it held no meaning. Night or daylights differed only in the level of activities by the Autobots; to Starscream, it was irrelevant. His routine consisted of over-extended recharge cycle (which rose in the occasion of having nothing to do while being jailed), breaking his power-down period only to consume the meagre energon that was supplied to him, snarking at the guards whenever they were in sight, and eventually, falling back into recharge when the Autobots had had enough bickering with him. It was tedious, but he could not let his CPU devoid of activity even for an astrosecond. If he did...

Starscream shook himself out of processor-drifts the instant he realized that he was dangerously close in losing himself completely in it. Groaning slightly at the discomfort his chained pede was sending, Starscream shuffled towards his modest berth and lay down. Ironhide and Seaspray, the mechs who were on duty for today, ignored the Seeker as if he never was – unsurprising, since Starscream had spent no less than a breem quarrelling with the duo. After such a heated session, none of them was willing to have a repeat performance; while the Autobots had each other to chat with, Starscream had no one else to keep him company. He was reluctant to stay awake now that he had no adversaries for verbal sparring and so, resorted to the next best thing; recharge. Again.

The ex-Air Commander already had his sensors dampened to passive detections when his audios caught the faint _tsew_ of the door sliding open. At first he was interested in the identity of the newcomer – perhaps he could spare himself another needless recharge and started the routine quarrels with this new guard – but then he was reminded how low on energy he was; his energon ration for today had not yet been delivered, and the verbal battle he just had with Ironhide spent him. Deciding that the harassing could wait until he was re-energized, Starscream proceeded to shut down his systems to minimal functionality in preparation for his next recharge cycle...

...

"_Starscream?"_

All of Starscream's systems were suddenly jerked back online at the call of his name. The voice that uttered it sounded fuzzy, as if he was hearing it through a badly-established link due to his audios still had not finished rebooting. His re-activated chronometer registered that barely a klik had gone since his logic circuits were shut down. Why would his CPU decided to power up at the simple utterance of his designation?

"Starscream? Are you awake?"

The summoner's voice was no longer unclear; hearing it was enough to make his processors stalled briefly. It felt like the energon running in his circulatory tubes were being frozen solid; his Spark had increased its pulsing frequency to a rate almost similar to those he experienced at full functioning capacity. Starscream was still lying on the berth, barely breaking out of his recharge session, but his internal systems had worked as if he was about to engage a furious battle.

"It can't be..."

"So you are. I'm coming in, Starscream."

Starscream's chassis sprung up once the meaning sunk down in his CPU. Ignoring the protesting creaks his stiff joints and bearing made, the Seeker jumped off his berth and whirled around on his thrusters-heels so that he was facing the entrance of his brig. The moment he did, Starscream had no idea whether to feel delighted or frightened when discovering that his guess was confirmed.

"Skyfire...?"

The Decepticon Seeker could not help from blurting the name out upon setting his optics on said Autobot. Skyfire was still outside Starscream's brig, but in a moment he would not be so for even as Starscream struggled to school his reaction into something less undignified, the huge shuttle was punching in the access code on the interface console. The energy bars dissipated from down up once Teletraan-1's security system had confirmed the passwords and voice-sample provided. Skyfire stepped through the vanishing barrier easily – and before the Seeker could really process the happenstances, the Autobot flyer was already in the brig with Starscream. Behind, the energy bars were reformed once it had detected Skyfire's passing.

"I bring you something, Starscream. Ratchet had informed me that you still had not given your ration today," Skyfire began; one of his servos was extended to offer an average-sized energon cube at the colourful flyer.

Starscream looked down; he eyed the cube with perhaps more caution than was necessary. Then, he remembered that he was still functioning even though he had downed a couple of energon cubes since he began his imprisonment here without any ill effect. It would not be very logical to theorize that Skyfire's would bring any harm. Had their goal was his deactivation – or at the very least, inebriation to make interrogation easier – the Autobots would have done so with the first cube given.

"Don't worry, Starscream. It's safe, I assure you," Skyfire spoke as if reading his thoughts, a speculation that induced an involuntary wince when he remembered that the very thing had been done before by Megatron. Coolant lines were flowing with fluid to reduce his core temperature as nervousness threatened to overrule his logic circuits. Then, hesitantly, he took the energon cube from Skyfire's hold but Starscream's optics did not stray a notch from the large shuttle.

"...Thanks."

Even Starscream himself was surprised by the automated action. It was such an awkward word to come out of his vocalizer, sounding almost alien to his own audios. How long had it been since his expressed gratitude was as genuine as this?

Skyfire's reaction was less strange at Starscream's thanks. A small smile pulled at a corner of his mouth components. To Starscream, it looked as if his old friend was as relieved at the acceptance as Starscream was. His white helm was tilted ever so slightly when he noticed that the jet-former was still reluctant to consume the energon.

"Perhaps you should sit while refuelling; the intake flow will be smoother that way," he suggested, then made to approach the Seeker. Starscream flinched out of reflexive drive although Skyfire was in no way displaying any sign of hostility. He did yelp, however, when he felt his free servo was enveloped in a gentle grasp by the shuttle's; alarm coursed through his systems the instant they made contact that he almost spilled the cube's energon content, but the warmth of metal that was not his own abolished the warnings quickly. Yes, he was anxious and edgy; yes, he was expecting harsher things to be done by the huge flyer, but now that his armour felt again the heat that he knew for so well and of which he had missed for so long...his uneasiness vanished just like that.

Skyfire said nothing while he pulled on Starscream's smaller limb and urged him to sit at the edge of his berth. The latter obeyed readily; a small part of his logic circuits, the portion that favoured his paranoia above anything else, screamed warnings that this could be a trap. He ignored it; right now, so very little mattered save for the friendly pressure being applied on his empty servo.

"Refuel," Skyfire urged again, subtly pushing at the held cube against Starscream's yellow cockpit.

Skyfire's smile looked now as it did always; warm, friendly and assuring, Starscream found that looking at such a beautiful expression erased the last trace of doubt he had against the shuttle and poured the energon down his gaped mouth. He was rather under-fuelled, after all, and the smell of freshly-produced energon was becoming unbearable to the ravenous Seeker.

"Careful now, Starscream. Don't go too fast," the Autobot shuttle cautioned; one of his large servos reached out towards the cube and pulled it back slightly. The rush of energon coursing through Starscream's oral passage slowed down as the angle of the cube's tilt was reduced; the Seeker's fuel pump worked at a more relaxed rate when the pressure inside his intake tubes lessened. The cube took more time to empty than Starscream usually made it to, but his refuelling was more relieving in return.

"Better now, isn't it?" the shuttle said as he took the empty cube from Starscream and set it on the floor.

Starscream nodded. It was true; although with his trinemate his refuelling session was almost as relaxing, the life of a Decepticon was fast and demanding that it had been quite a time already since he last had the time to truly appreciate the refreshing sensation as energon flowed down his intake tubes.

"I need it," Starscream replied stiffly. Out of having nothing else to do, he threw his glances around the brig area and noticed for the first time that he and Skyfire were alone. "Where are Ironhide and Seaspray?"

"I have them take a short break for a while."

"Why?"

The shuttle's stare was full with honest puzzlement when he replied, "'Why' what?"

"Why do you come here, Skyfire? Why make them leave? What do you want from me?"

"To deliver your energon ration, of course," Skyfire answered, hesitated, and then resumed, "Well, not exactly. I come here to find out about your conditions."

"'_My condition', _you say? I'm being captured by Autobots, thrown in this Pit-hole of a brig and I don't even have my _wings_! How's that sound to you? You think –"

Starscream's rambling was stopped mid-way by Skyfire, who, upon noticing the imminence of Starscream's CPU-meltdown through his increasingly shrill vocalization, lunged forward to envelop the Seeker's slighter frame in his arms.

Time had suddenly stopped for Starscream when he realized that he had been pulled into Skyfire's embrace. He was genuinely shocked at the shuttle's impulsive act but made no move to reject the contacts being offered. The warmth from Skyfire's living metals touched the Seeker in the most delicate of manners, rendering Starscream's chassis limp in the hold of his large companion. Being a Decepticon had denied him of the simple luxuries of tenderness that to be exposed to such intimacy once again was almost too overwhelming for Starscream to handle. He had missed such gentle treatments for many vorns now and today, at this very astrosecond, that wish was finally granted.

"Skyfire...?"

Said shuttle's chassis stiffened ever so slightly at the naming of himself. His chest-vents whirred out a heavy sigh as Skyfire reluctantly pulled himself away from the colourful Seeker though only just enough for him to stare down into the other's red optics. His white servos had abandoned the Seeker's back, but they continued to trail along the length of Starscream's arm-columns before warping the sky-blue digits with his own in a gentle hold.

"I owe you an apology, old friend. I...I have never meant to cause you such hurt, nor do I intend for things to go this badly...Starscream, will you forgive me? Will you accept my apology?"

Starscream's optics darkened with the moods brewing inside his systems. This was wrong...why would Skyfire still maintained his chivalry when facing the once-friend who had betrayed him? Why would he even care for someone who had deserted him to stay frozen in stasis lock for nine million stellar cycles? All these questions and more fought with one another for the right to be vocalized first, but as soon as the first word was about to jump off the tip of his glossa, the courage to do so left him. His fear was too great – fear in the unknowns, fear of Skyfire's answers should the questions were asked of the shuttle. Starscream's mouth components opened and closed repeatedly as he fought to bring his vocalization circuits under control but even after his fifth attempt he was still unable to utter a single syllable.

"I see," Skyfire mumbled after a while of empty silence. There was unspoken note of regret in the shuttle's voice that depressed Starscream even further. His tantrum earlier was nothing more than just an attempt to release out the frustration that had been rusting in his systems, a mask that he wore before others but of which he had forgotten to shed in the presence of Skyfire. The realization that dawned upon the Seeker that Skyfire had mistakenly interpreted his silence as a refusal to forgive made him feel even worse.

Even then Starscream was unable to say something. Nothing at all.

The huge servos that had been tenderly holding onto Starscream's released their grasps, albeit with obvious reluctance. The downcast optics Skyfire was showing spoke of his emotions so well as he picked up the empty cube at the berth-side and stood up.

"I guess I'll see you later then," the huge flyer said without making optic contact with Starscream, who was himself desperately trying to catch those mesmerizing blue optics with his own. But Skyfire's head was turned well away from the Seeker's, and whatever expression that graced those beautiful faceplates remained unseen.

Skyfire exited the brig as the energy rods vanished just long enough to allow his passing. Starscream surged forward, a blue servo outstretched before him in gesture of summoning, but words died in his vocalizer. The shuttle continued walking, walking away from the prison, walking away from Starscream, away from an encounter that hurt rather than heal. His form vanished when he turned round a corner, and the similar _tsew_ of the door opening that heralded his arrival marked his departure.

And Starscream was alone again.

**XxXx**

"Lord Megatron?"

The warlord flinched when his audios registered the sound of his name being spoken. The throbbing the memory drive caused in his cranial plating dissipated as the link between him and Starscream was severed, leaving only ignorable numbness in its place which would disappear shortly. With a groan, the silver gun-former onlined his optics and sat straighter in his royal seat, noticing dimly how his chassis was slick with condensation. The gradual powering down of his cooling fans underneath his thick armour told him that his systems had just being brought under control, the heat-born anger that gave birth to the droplets of water now covering his frame upon its cooling having been vanquished.

The mech that stood before him, though keeping a respectful distance between them, was Soundwave. The monotone Decepticon was, of course, had no discernible features in which to gauge his emotions, but Megatron could almost swear that he had noticed a faint note of worry in his voice – though that observation was strictly personal and was very much arguable. Megatron made no attempt to hide the bubbling anger still residing underneath the thin layer of calmness and perhaps it was this red-hot fury that had driven the Communication Expert to spare a little concern for his leader. After all, a bad-mood Megatron was a _very _unpleasant mech.

"Yes, Soundwave?"

"Request: Megatron's condition. Observation: Megatron's systems were overheating out of unconfirmed cause. Possible reason: Extreme emotional fluctuations," answered the navy-white mech.

Megatron pondered his officer's every word when he realized that his servos had been clutching at the arm-rests for Primus knew for how long that the surfaces were cracked and dented from the raw pressure he applied upon them. He released the innocent objects quickly with some vain part pointing out his regret of doing so; now, his beautiful, perfect throne was flawed, but the thought was lost to him in the next astrosecond. There was another matter more pressing than this slagging chair.

He waived a black servo at the cassette-player still waiting for his leader's reply at the base of the throne-dais and spoke, "My conditions are of no important concern. Right now, I want you to leave for a reconnaissance mission to find out Starscream's situation. Do not return until you have gathered some useful information."

"As you command, Lord Megatron."

Soundwave left immediately, pausing only long enough to order Astrotrain – currently, it was the triple-changer's turn for the monitor duty – to raise the landing tower of Nemesis. Astrotrain stole a frightened glance at his leader, apparently intrigued by the verbal exchange he just had with Soundwave, before resuming his duty. Megatron paid him not the slightest mind.

He had had enough with the memory drive. It gave him nothing but vague hints of Starscream's true conditions which were at best completely unreliable – at worst, they were misinterpreted as something else entirely. He needed clearer pictures which he would get once Soundwave returned to him. Megatron had been idle for too long; it was time for him to act.

Megatron had seen everything; he felt everything, and he was pained by the serenity that Starscream received...because it was not HIM who caused it. The silver mech had to stop these before everything went out of his control – before Starscream was lost to _that_ Pit-spawned traitor.

There was no denying it now, no matter how hard Megatron's pride wanted to; he was jealous of Skyfire for being able to do things to Starscream that he could not...and it was a _dangerous_ jealousy indeed.


	7. Chapter 7

'Ratchet's Place' was aptly named even though it was not officially the Chief Medic's. However, since he spent almost all of his functioning time within it, be it when the Autobots were still on Cybertron or after they have crash-landed on this alien planet, the whole army had came to know the medical bay as so. Speculation ran rampant among the Ark's residents that Ratchet spent more time in the Transformers' version of a hospital than in his own living quarters. It was a rumour that could have been true, and if it really was, not very surprising; the Great War demanded many soldiers to act upon its massive stage and many had heeded to the summons, but there were so few of them who were capable of repairing. Thus medics had become a prized asset to both armies due to their significance and rare numbers. Ratchet was one of those few handfuls that came to serve the Autobot's cause in this relentless war, but by merely being a medic had not made him into a mech that others looked up to so much. Ratchet had gained his popularity by being notoriously strict with his patients...and undeniably dedicated to his duties. He could still be seen working on his charge even though he himself had barely caught a klik's worth of recharge after non-stop working for orns.

With the battle now being shifted to Earth, the number of soldiers had dwindled much compared to when it was staged on Cybertron, but that did not really help Ratchet cut his works – perhaps, the new location made it even worse. Fewer soldiers meant fewer individuals to replace the injured and it fell upon Ratchet's shoulder-struts to maintain their numbers of functional individuals. While it was some relieve that Grapple, Hoist and Huffer could perform routine maintenance, it was Ratchet who held the position as Chief Medical Officer – and that first and foremost, mechs would come to him if medical requirements arose. For instance, even though the latest battles with the Decepticons were three orns ago, Ratchet was still busy with another matter – tending to Perceptor's damages.

"Looks like you are doing fine now, Perceptor," Ratchet was saying when he read the newest maintenance reports of said Autobot.

The microscope-former was sitting at the edge of one of the operation berths in the med-bay, pedes dangling down and swinging back and forth like an impatient Sparkling's waiting for the creators to pick him up. Ratchet would have laughed at the rather unlikely comparison, but with datapads in one servo and his CPU busily processing the details he was reading, the CMO was truly in his element and therefore, allowed no unprofessionalism to interrupt his works.

"Of course I am, Ratchet. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a new specimen to analyze back in my laboratory. Hound had just brought it back, and later, I may go with him to –"

"– Now don't get ahead of yourself, Perceptor. You may be fully repaired, but your motor-arm circuitries still need a few more orns to fully connect with the rest of your systems. I'll let you go with peeking and observing things, but definitely no going out of the Ark," the red-white mech interjected sharply, optics flashing with both alarm and worry at the possibilities if Perceptor was given free rein.

"If you say so, Ratchet...though it saddens me greatly to not be able to venture out yet," Perceptor replied in his British-hinted ascent.

Though not as pronounced as Shockwave's, Perceptor's unique style of speaking was developed through similar method as the aforementioned Decepticon who picked the bits from their creators. As time passed, their vocalizers modified it a bit, but the general style remained – as a result, Perceptor talked with lingo akin to that of one of the Tower's luxury-bedded population when in reality, he was not.

Ratchet's vents huffed loudly, a sure sign of irritation. "I'm not happy to restrict your movements, but Primus knows what a waste all that monitoring I've done if you go out before you are TRULY ready and get damaged on the way..."

"Point taken, Ratchet, and don't worry; I will not stray. Only my laboratory, I promise," the patient assured; Ratchet made no attempt to stop him from getting off and out of the place altogether the berth as all the usual procedure had been finished. Besides, Perceptor's telemetries informed his conditions to be top-notch – the only thing that needed a little waiting was circuitry-adjustment.

With Perceptor's departure, the medical bay was now all Ratchet's to use, but for the time being he felt like doing nothing. It was a rare blessing to have lone time all to himself so why not indulge in it? He was about to take leave himself – perhaps to the refuel hall to socialize with the other Autobots a bit – when the med-bay's door pulled apart, with Optimus Prime appearing at the gaping entrance.

"Optimus?" Ratchet spontaneously identified the mech with red-blue-white colour scheme. Beside, only the Prime dared to enter his place without a formal permission from the CMO – because aside from being a leader to his soldier, the other mech was also a close friend to Ratchet.

"Sorry for the interruption, Ratchet, but I need to talk with you," Optimus began, already striding towards the CMO.

"And by the lack of knock-knock on the door, I'll say that this is something personal," Ratchet returned while gesturing towards a nearby metal-couch at a corner of the med-bay.

Optimus followed the direction as indicated and sat down beside Ratchet, who had already taken his place on the long bench. "Not very personal, but I think this subject does not merit an official meeting to be discussed with the others."

"Uh? What it's about, then?" Ratchet leaned forward, now immensely interested. Aside from himself, only with Ironhide and a few others Optimus did discuss non-official matters. The Prime was always a notable leader who went out all the way to help his soldiers and even treated them like his own family units – which meant getting as far as solving problems that had nothing to do with the Autobot's cause in general. Optimus Prime watched over the well-being of those under his leadership as a creator would to his Sparklings. Many who had no working experience with the truck-former would have said that it was merely Matrix-induced behaviours, but Ratchet, as well as those who had fought alongside him, knew for a fact that the powerful artefact only enhanced his compassion – the care that Optimus gave towards the Autobots were naturally born from his own Spark.

Optimus leaned into the couch and tilted his helm so that it rested upon the head-rest at the back, both arms spread and resting lightly on either side. The intakes cycled a few times as the Autobot Commander readied himself to speak the opening. "It's Skyfire. Now you are aware, I'm sure, of the friendship between Starscream and him. From the reports of the many Autobots assigned to guard Starscream's prison, it seems to me that he is getting...unstable."

"Really? Don't see the difference then and now," Ratchet gave a loose shrug. It was true, in any case; one could easily see that the Decepticon ex-Air Commander was rather troubled in his processors even before his capture. Ratchet could not honestly see the logic behind Starscream's action to serve under Megatron and yet opposing him in the next instant. Of course, power and domination were Starscream's goals – they were every Decepticon's goals, in fact – but why the defiance when in another astrosecond he would be back to the role of a perfect aft-kisser?

"I see what you mean, Ratchet. But he has also undergone notable change in his behaviours...particularly his uncharacteristic silence. Now I know you are going to point out that it's a relief for our audios and I can't agree more, but I'm afraid that it will eventually lead to more dire consequences," Optimus spoke without sparing a nanoklik's worth or a pause, giving no room at all for Ratchet to intervene – if given the chance, the CMO'S lecture could have lasted for a joor on average. Optimus Prime had the patience to endure it of course, but time was not very generous with him on this occasion.

"Such as...?"

"Take Perceptor. We were used to Starscream with the image of being crafty, though falling a little short on bravery...but look at what he had done to Perceptor. It is beyond our comprehension that he would act as such, and it is all because of the flux his CPU is going through," the Prime explained while Ratchet noted how the Autobot Commander's voice grew sorrowful by the astrosecond. Knowing him like Ratchet did, the white-red mech recognized the sign of regret at having 'failed' to protect his own men from Starscream's threats, who were in here originally because he had willed it so. While the latter was true, Ratchet could not see why Optimus would have taken the burden of remorse solely upon his own shoulder-struts.

"I don't wish for the same situation to repeat," the larger Autobot continued; the tone was concluded with a heavy sigh escaping his truck-form's vents.

"Neither do I," Ratchet agreed, but the real subject of this discussion was yet to be revealed and the Chief Medic was getting rather impatient waiting for the revelation. "But why EXACTLY do you come looking for me? If you want to talk about security...it's Ironhide's and Red Alert's. Even Prowl will fit the bill, but certainly not me."

"It's not about security that I'm concerned of. That Starscream had managed to escape before is because of our unreadiness for it...no, I come to you because you are the only one that I can talk about this with. I want to ask for your opinion to have Skyfire on energon delivery routine."

"To Starscream?"

Optimus Prime merely nodded. Ratchet was completely lost right now; why would Optimus needed his counsel in this matter when it should be Skyfire whom he should turn to? And more importantly, why the reluctance to do as was suggested himself?

It might have been the empathy that Optimus Prime was endowed with – there could be no way that the Autobot Commander could have access his CPU, telepathically or not – but his next sentences answered Ratchet's bewilderment with accuracy that might have rivalled his guess were the Prime had such ability:

"I need your opinions on this because you are the closest friend of Skyfire in the Ark...and besides, none other save for you and me know of the old friendship between Starscream and Skyfire."

"You could have asked Skyfire directly," Ratchet countered, still rather unsatisfied.

"This is a delicate matter, Ratchet. I don't want to go asking him for things that turns out to be a taboo...I'm afraid that I may brush something sensitive in his context."

"Fine. My opinion? Personally, I see that it isn't necessary...but given your reasons, I'll say we better do it. I'm sure Skyfire can handle meeting with Starscream..." Ratchet's sentence trailed at the end; now that he tried answering Optimus's question himself, the delicacy of this topic showed itself in its full scale.

Ratchet could not really say that he had given the correct answer, but in his opinion it was the best that he could give. Optimus's extra carefulness was legitimate in this; despite the 'tough-guy' exterior that Ratchet had put upon himself, the CMO was far from being insensitive, and therefore, realized why the Prime said that this case was rather fragile. The high level of professionalism in his working field demanded him to be so when inside, he felt like everyone else did. Millennia of working as a medic had forced him to face uncountable deaths and injuries that would have made a majority of others cringed. In his early vorns such were his reactions; now, all he could do was mourn for the fallen inwardly and hoped that similar things would not repeat themselves again. Having met Skyfire, though, and being informed of his complicated histories, Ratchet thought that he was fortunate compared to the shuttle; so far, all that he had to face were the deactivations of those who were close to him. Skyfire had been _betrayed_ by a mech whom he called a friend. To an Autobot, there were few things that could rival sadness that it caused.

Again, Optimus's vents cycled an output reminiscent to a sigh. There was so much going on in his processors that sometimes the Chief Medic wondered why he had not undergone CPU-crashdown already. Alpha Trion's design must have included major modifications to his processing ability when he made that fateful decision to metamorph Orion Pax into this enigmatic Cybertronian that everyone had came to know as Optimus Prime.

"Ratchet...I fear for Skyfire. I may not know him much, but I do know that past scars do not fade easily on Sparks with the likes of him...I don't want to cause his pain to be renewed."

"I understand...but still, you won't know for sure unless you ask him. My other opinion is to just go for it. Sitting here and asking me won't get you very far."

Optimus's vocalizer broke out that characteristic chuckle of his, his shoulder-struts heaving slightly from the force of it. "As I've told time and time again – 'listen to the doctor'! Well, that's settle it, I think. I will ask him as soon as I can."

"Right. Also, Optimus –"

Whatever Ratchet had in his CPU was lost when their conversations were interrupted by a slight movement as the med-bay's door opened and a rather flamboyant mech walked in, stealing their attentions completely.

"Oh good, you're here. I've been worrying that you're too busy to help me repair my wings."

It was Tracks. The mech stood at the entrance with a rather awkward stance; it took a little optical zooming on Ratchet's part to diagnose the cause – it appeared that the bearings joining his upper thigh-column and his hip-segment had been dislocated a little, hence the slightly tilted stand he was showing. It would have been strange to others that he worried more about his wings rather than the obviously-more-important leg, but Ratchet had long realized that the vain Tracks treasured his wings above any other part of his chassis. In this regard he was disturbingly similar to the Decepticon Seekers, but it was rather understandable, given that the gift of flight was not common among the Autobots.

"What happened?" Optimus asked, obviously concerned. He stood up to approach the smaller mech, but Tracks shook his white helm carelessly.

"Oh, nothing much," the red-faced Transformer answered in his usual airy tone; no matter what mood he was in, his voice never lose its pompousness. Like Perceptor, his upbringing had shaped him into what he was today – including his vanity. "It was Sunstreaker and Sideswipe; they were too busy racing each other in the city to notice that I was there. How rude."

"Hmmph, my Spark bleeds for you," Ratchet muttered in dry sarcasm; Tracks's narcissism was irritating, but Ratchet had learned to tolerate it since the vain mech was actually surprisingly helpful, given his usual arrogant attitude. In fact, he was one of the mechs most ready to lend a helping servo whenever and wherever it was required.

The CMO gestured towards one of the empty operation berths in the med-bay and Tracks proceeded towards the shown direction and lay down upon it, lip components never ceased moving while muttering his complaints how his beautiful design had been flawed by the mini accident. The rants went on even as Ratchet made to bend over the injured section of his leg, a welding tool in a servo an a monitoring screen in the other, closely examining for any other broken parts that his visual range might have missed.

"I'll fix your leg first, since they are more important than your wings," the medic informed.

"Please be careful, Ratchet. I don't want other part of my stunning chassis gets further damages than it already has," Tracks warned. Ratchet could have sworn that he had heard an almost inaudible whisper of "Primus!" from underneath Optimus's battle-mask but chose not to mention it. He himself had almost unabashedly grumbled at Track's fickleness.

"I'm a fully qualified Chief Medical Officer, for your information. I know how to do my job," Ratchet said instead, turning his annoyed groan into sentences.

"I was just reminding you. I don't want to be stuck in my robot body," he answered, referring to the fact that he could not transform since the damages were inflicted when he was in bipedal form, hence, disrupting certain structures that made mode-conversion possible. Of all the Autobots, Tracks was seen as a kind of misfit not only because of his diva-like behaviours, but also because he was fond of his alternate form as a Chevrolet Corvette C3 more than his root-mode.

"You'll be able to roll out soon enough. Now be quiet and let me work in peace."

Ratchet stooped over the damaged portion of Track's leg and began welding the pieces back together; the Corvette's vents let out a melancholic sigh as the owner obeyed the order and forced himself to relax on the berth.

Optimus Prime, who had been remotely witnessing the exchanges between the two Autobots, eventually spoke, "I'll leave you two in peace, then. Good day."

"And good luck to you," Ratchet returned without looking up. Having been acquainted with the leader for nine-plus-something billions of stellar cycles, the CMO could predict Optimus's reaction readily – that he would nod his acknowledgement and walked away in silence. True enough, an astrosecond later heard the med-bay's door's opening sound effect, trailed by the sounds of leaving pede-steps before closing back.

Tracks had stopped his grumbling by the time Optimus Prime left; it was rather peculiar since the usual routine would include the Corvette-former to NOT stop complaining throughout the operation. Looking up, the Chief Medic saw that Tracks was busy in his other favourite activity – to admire his own beauty...though now perhaps the appropriate term would be 'mourning' since the blue optics that scanned the expanse of his wings were darkened in sorrow.

"For Primus's sake, Tracks, I can fix your wings!" Ratchet snapped, his patience wearing thin.

The Corvette-former was unfazed by the irritation the CMO was showing but he did stop glancing back in seeing his damaged beauty. "Of course you can. But it's really hard for me to accept that it has been damaged...my _gorgeous _wing..."

Ratchet's vents cycled out an annoyed huff, but he said nothing in return. Replying could probably made his crankiness worse and it was really, _really_ unadvisable working with unstable mental. Still, if this was how Tracks, who was a ground-scheme model but with the modification to enable flight reacted to damaged wings, the medic could only wonder the extent of emotional scar a Seeker had to endure, given that the ability to fly were gifted to them the orn they were Sparked.

No wonder Skyfire exerted himself to the limit just to see Starscream's reconstructed wings were as perfect as the original ones. That alone spoke too of the level of care the shuttle spared for the Decepticon...just to see the Seeker happy again.

Tracks did not notice it, of course, but Ratchet's work grew more earnest as he tried diverting his CPU from processing this train of thoughts.

**XXXXX**

"What? Prime, are you serious...?"

Optimus Prime's office was usually insulated with peaceful silence but this nanoklik, the stillness was broken by Skyfire's near-shout of surprise. He and the Autobot Supreme Commander were seated facing each other, separated in the middle by the Prime's large working desk. Optimus's title was reflected on the massiveness of his working place, but it was never on the Prime's request; rather, it was the ongoing tradition to give the best to the highest leader in the Autobot rank. Optimus Prime had simply accepted it, though with obvious attentiveness on his part, because he had not wanted the complications that came with the denial.

"I am," Optimus nodded. His digits were locked together in an upside-down 'V' with his chin-guard resting delicately upon them. "I have been hoping to request for this for quite some time already, actually."

"But...why me?"

"Skyfire, you are the only one in the whole Ark that Starscream knows. Having you in his proximity will hopefully reduce the tension he is experiencing and therefore makes him less dangerous."

Skyfire thought fleetingly how Optimus tone sounded disturbingly like one that he would use when talking to Sparklings but the reason came easy enough to his processors; the Prime was simply concerned about how would Skyfire reacted to such request, and truth to be told, the shuttle was rather glad that it was not the commander-styled voice that was adopted. Optimus was a diplomatic leader, but there were times when he carried so much authority that nobody could say 'no' to his words.

Still, the request harboured ill feeling to Skyfire. "Prime...please. Don't use me. I know it will be a monumental achievement if we succeed to pull Starscream to our side, but he is not me. And I can't use my friendship to such cause!"

The instant he finished saying that, the shuttle knew that he had said something wrong by the tension in Optimus Prime's shoulder-struts and the rapid flickers his optics showed. Skyfire felt like shrinking back into his seat. However, when the Autobot Commander next spoke, his tone was even more calculated, heavy with concern that was unexpected:

"You misunderstand me. Though you are right that having Starscream siding with us is a huge advantage, it is a secondary objective. The top priority here is to have him pacified enough to curb him from doing anything dangerous. Or unwise."

"Oh." Skyfire would have face-palmed himself for such childish reply if he happened NOT to be in front of Optimus Prime, but the relief and understanding buried his logic circuits from formulating a more elaborate display.

"Still, it is a request, not a command. There is no obligation attached whether to follow...or not." But it was noticeable to the shuttle's audios that Optimus Prime was naturally wishing for a positive answer. Complications rose from this simple fact – because Skyfire was not sure whether he could bear to face Starscream again after the Seeker's refusal to accept his company when he himself wanted to return Optimus's grace in accepting him into the Autobot faction. Had he scarred Starscream so severely that there was no hope for forgiveness for him in the Decepticon's Spark? Could there still be any shred of friendship still existing between them after what they have gone through?

"I don't know if I can do it..." Skyfire admitted.

Optimus Prime nodded, accepting the answer. The only sign of disappointment he ever showed was the almost imperceptible dimming in his optics, but it affected the shuttle so deeply because it had felt as if failing when his leader had expected something more encouraging.

Somehow Optimus Prime read his emotions – or thoughts – and replied gently. "There is no stress in this, Skyfire. I am sure than an alternative will present itself in due time."

Skyfire's CPU felt as if surged with power almost unnatural in nature, a pang that secretly scolded him for such inability. Optimus Prime did not give up in his pursuit, never wavering in his standing and was always optimistic of the outcome. And if the worst was to come, he would gladly embrace it as his inescapable destiny after struggling his hardest to mend it. Optimus Prime held power not only in his joints and servos and energy battle-axe; his very Spark, his belief, his confidence, were also a core of his strength that made Optimus worthy of his title Prime. It had been on too many occasions that Skyfire had wished for a shred of his leader's personality, but it was a dream that would stay unreachable to his groping servo.

...was it, though?

"Optimus Prime," Skyfire's voice found new confidence when he spoke this time. Maybe he could not be Skyfire Prime, because the role of leadership had never been the pursuit of his activation cycle, but at least he could absorb the admirable qualities he found in this enigmatic Commander. "I...I agree to it; I will do as you ask."

It was definite that the sudden, probably very random, reply had shocked the Autobot leader, as judged by the straightening of his back-strut and the unlocking of his digits. Skyfire looked at the smaller mech with unwavering optics, hoping to have his attempt at bravery being approved by this figure he had been looking up to.

"Skyfire, you DO realize that I'm asking for a favour and not giving out orders," Optimus's reply sounded disbelieving despite his previous hope of getting Skyfire to agree to it. The well-being of his soldiers came first in almost every situation even though he could as well use his superior rank to have his wish fulfilled.

"I do. But I want to help...and I will do as you have requested – willingly."

Those mesmerizing royal-blue optics searched Skyfire's own with a gaze that were both haunting and soothing, and somehow they reminded him of the tale of mythical Siren as was told by Spike Witwicky a few quartexes ago; while the mech before him was far from being a supernatural being, Optimus Prime certainly grasped his subjects' attentions as surely as Ratchet could fix Sunstreaker's broken tail-pipes.

"Alright then," the Autobot superior eventually concluded upon realizing that he would find no irresoluteness in the shuttle, "if you think you are able and willing for it."

"Thank you, Prime," and Skyfire rose from his seat, sensing finality to their meeting. Even as he made for the office's exit, though, he could sort of feel Optimus's optics continued to stare at his retreating back, concern and worry mingling together into Spark-warming tenderness, until they were optically separated once again when the door closed.

A few kliks later, as he stood just outside the brig area with an energon cube in a servo, Skyfire's doubts returned to haunt his newfound self-confidence, diminishing it to the level as it was before he met with Optimus Prime. From the unofficial knowledge he had received from Smokescreen of whom he had accidentally found in the refuel hall to retrieve Starscream's ration for today, it was Gears and Beachcomber who were supposed to be on guard duty this time. While it would be easier to force the Autobot geologist to leave, he was not so sure about the hot-headed Gears.

Screw this. He might as well go ahead now that he was here. So, with cooling vents barely able to keep silent from reducing nervousness-induced heat, Skyfire punched in all the necessaries to enter and step inside, finding a rather bizarre, though not altogether unexpected, scene once he was beyond the door.

Gears was mad with anger and was evidently trying to get his servos around a cackling Starscream's neck-cables, an action that was yet to happen thanks to Beachcomber who had the other mini-bot in a bear hug. The mech was yelling and screaming things unintelligent to any known language, except perhaps a few barely recognized 'slag you', 'fragging 'Con' and 'Pit-spawned wretch' – perhaps it was for the good, since from the tone alone it was obvious that Gears were not spilling out anything honeyed.

"Relax, Gears! Remember, we are one with the –"

"– to the deepest slagging pits with your 'we are one with nature'! This is a 'Con! Let me have 'im! Lemme go! Lemme go, I SAY!"

Though a part of Skyfire's CPU had the space to process the weirdness in Beachcomber's choice of persuasive words, his battle-processors took control of his motors and overwhelmed his logic circuits with suggestions for the next course of actions; the next thing he knew, Skyfire was lunging for Gears, who had managed to pry himself away from Beachcomber's hold and gripped at the mini-bot's servo with one of his own. His angry shouting increase in intensity when Gears found that his hard-gained freedom was stripped away, even more so when he felt his chassis being lifted cleanly off the ground by the crooks of his arms; in the hassles of things, Skyfire had abandon the energon cube he had been holding to restrain this crazy mech from doing anything potentially dangerous or stupid or unthinkable, or the three of them altogether.

"Skyfire! Why you – let me go! Get your servos off me or –"

"Get a grip of yourself, Gears! You are behaving most childishly – and you get no benefit from it!" Skyfire raised his voice just an octave of its usual volume, but the effect was comparatively observable; Gears might not stop his thrashing, but the efforts lessened considerably enough for the shuttle to trust him back on his pedes. To Beachcomber, he instructed, "Get Gears out of here before someone gets damaged." _Or permanently deactivated, by the looks of things,_ Skyfire thought in silence.

The blue mech obeyed without preamble although Skyfire was no superior in rank to him, pushing Gears on the small of his back in urging him out of the brig area. In astroseconds, silence return to the place, punctuated only occasionally by the sound of rushing wind getting in and out of the flyers' vents.

"_What_," Skyfire wheeled on the heel of his pedes when he said this, "on Cybertron was that all about?"

Starscream's maniacal fit of laughter had been partially subdued by now, leaving only a trace of shoulder-strut heaving as residue of his amusement. "I was just trying to get some entertainment. It has been uneventful in here."

"'Uneventful'? Primus, you have been at odds with every single Autobot that have come to guard you!" Skyfire sank into the larger one of the chairs abandoned by the previous guards; it fitted his aft only barely, but it would do for now. "At this rate you are going to have a mob of the Ark's residents wanting to dismantle you piece to piece."

"And I should care because...?"

"Because I DO care."

Had there been someone dropping a pin right then, the sound it made upon impact with the floor would have been as loud as Optimus Prime's pede-steps, such silence it was that reigned in the place. Not to mention the awkwardness that came with the package, rendering the two mechs not only mute, but temporarily paralyzed.

"I don't want to see you in more troubles than you already are, Starscream. Primus, my CPU aches from worrying too much about you..." Skyfire confessed unashamedly, feeling the need to admit it, to release it, to make his feelings known to the other. He was prepared for whatever answer or reaction that Starscream would give. Or so he thought.

"...Why did you leave me, then?"

Skyfire's helm jerked up, surprised. When he gazed upon the darker faceplates of his Decepticon friend, the evil smirk that had always graced the flyer's expression was now gone to be replaced by something that was not quite definable.

"Starscream...what are you talking about?"

"Yesterday. When you deliver my cube. You asked for my forgiveness, but you left without my reply. "

A cold hard fact that stung Skyfire to the core of his Spark. Ignoring now the energon cube that was supposed to be the primary intention of him being here, Skyfire rose from his seat and rushed for the energy-barred cell, getting as close as he dared without being zapped by the electricity they emitted as defence measures.

"Primus, Starscream...I've thought...that you have rejected me. That I could never be in your company again. Or look upon you with friendly optics, as I've done millions of stellar cycles ago."

Starscream bit at his lower lip-component, suppressing himself from succumbing to his emotional urge. "You fool! I've never aimed for your Spark, didn't I?"

If before it was imminent, the emotional floodgate had now burst open – Skyfire wasted not a nanoklik longer; with perhaps more force than was required he punched in the codes and breathed Starscream's name instead when he was asked for voice confirmation. The bars were still not completely dissipated when the shuttle rushed in, resulting in the tip of his left pede being slightly singed by it. He gasped at the brief pain his neural networks sent to his processors, but Primus, nothing else matters at this astroseconds but the smaller, shapely chassis of which his arms were wrapping about right now.

His embrace this time was answered as Starscream's servos were raised to envelop the shuttle's massive girth. The Decepticon was no longer unresponsive when touched like this, unlike last time; the sky-blue fingers scrabbled at his companion's sides with almost frantic need, digging into whatever seams the tips manage to catch in order to press himself even closer against the shuttle's chassis. Charcoal-black helm burrowed futilely against the unyielding glass of Skyfire's cockpit, and still Starscream wanted to be held nearer, tighter.

"Don't leave me," Skyfire heard the smaller flyer mumbled; the voice somehow muffled as the owner spoke whilst having his lip-components partially compressed by the blue-glassed cockpit they were against. "I was forced to abandon you on this planet long ago. It felt like I was being left myself. Don't make me suffer it anymore, Skyfire."

Skyfire shuddered slightly when he heard his name being called with such affectionate longing. Starscream's vocalization circuits, long had been damaged by the doing of his creator, emitted a voice that was a torture to the audios that received it; to Skyfire, though, it was the most beautiful sound that the universe could have produced. It was music to his auditory sensors.

Caution now irreversibly cast to the wind, Skyfire dipped down into the encircling bands of his own arms, his mouth lowered upon the partial black helm visible in the tangles of limbs. The smaller chassis jerked slightly when he felt the top of the helmet was touched by tentative swipe of Skyfire's lips, but when no further resistance ensued the shuttle proceeded to truly plant a kiss on the black flatness of Starscream's head, feeling the point of contact warmed up a little. A groan sounded, but it was not one of protest.

"I have been missing you so, so very much Starscream," the Autobot mumbled, his mouth still hovering above the dark helm, every word he uttered making his lip-components brushed against Starscream's top.

"Easy for you to say. You're in stasis lock for the whole time," Starscream's protest was good-natured despite the wording and the mocking tone the Seeker used. "By the way, there is a price for my forgiveness."

Starscream was definitely in a playful mood right now, and Skyfire decided that it would not hurt to humour his friend for the time being. Besides, no one was watching – well, Red Alert maybe, but unless there was emergency call being sent out, the Security Director's optics had a good chance of never straying to the screen that displayed the feedbacks from the security cameras installed in the brig area. After all, the Slag-Maker of the Universe was somewhere out there and not behind the walls of the Ark. Pulling back slightly to allow room for Starscream to speak without his voice being dampened, he asked, "And what is that price?"

"_This_."

Starscream's one-word answer was extended by his physical actions; Skyfire buried the drive to groan in disappointment when he felt the smaller arms slid away from his chassis, only to let out a surprised gasp as those blue servos shot up between their chasses and all the way to his white helm. Nimble digits searched and found purchase easily at the bundles of cables lining up the back of Skyfire's neck-section, pressing down hard in forcing the shuttle to bend his torso while at the same time, the Seeker rose on the front edges of his pedes to maximize his height.

Their lip-components met.

The surroundings suddenly lost its sense of realism; all that existed now was the dark faceplates so very near to his own and the warmth and pressure he felt on his white lips. His large servos were suddenly possessed by sentience of their own as one crept further up to the back of Starscream's helm, lodging the digits gently into the natural curves of its design and pressed the head harder against his own; the other trailed to the Seeker's lower half, encircling the slim waist with the length of his arm, lifting the Seeker even higher as he sought to have more of this kiss. For his part, Starscream displayed an unusual level of trust while allowing himself to be done with as Skyfire would, his seductive mouth never failing to respond to each and every advance that the shuttle made and initiating his own once Skyfire was done with his session.

It could have been orns for all the flyers cared; in truth, their joining lasted for barely a klik, but the emotions that passed between them worth nine million stellar cycles of Spark-aching separation. They parted with vents whirling madly from having to cool their lusty internals, lip components now sporting slight dents from the force of their 'meeting'. Red and blue optics burned with the same level of intensity as the other, speaking of too many things at once while uttering not a word via the vocalizers, sharing emotions that they have dreamt and yet not expecting to exist in one another. The first thing that Skyfire realized once his logic circuits gained control of his meta-processors was that Starscream was slightly shaky from the force of their intimacy; the shuttle hesitantly lowered the Seeker to his pedes, guiding him all the way to the berth, where Starscream fell on his aft rather limply.

"Well...that feels nice," Starscream managed a smirk even though his voice was as shaky as the rest of his chassis.

"I believe I have paid the price, did I not?"

"Oh yes, you have. And with interests too." Starscream patted on the surface just beside him in invitation for the shuttle to sit. Skyfire accepted it and moved to join the Decepticon Seeker on the berth. For a while neither of them spoke, feeling as if their vocalization circuits had simply shut off and resorting to simply enjoy each others' presences.

Kliks passed until the shuttle moved again; one huge servo cupped at the side of Starscream's helm and the Seeker leaned into the offered palm, granting a genuine smile that for once had nothing to do with sadistic amusement. At peace with the acceptance, Skyfire leaned forward on kissed him on the nasal ridge between the optics which flared with excitement at the contact.

"Thank you, Starscream. For not giving up on me."

Starscream's smile widening, he too extended a blue servo to touch the larger mech's cheek-plates, digits tracing the ridge adorning the face.

"What can I say? I'm a Decepticon – we've already proven ourselves to be quite stubborn over the eons."

They say nothing more afterwards, but to Skyfire the silence was more meaningful than having a hundred empty words spoken. Starscream had been returned to his side, and for this astrosecond, it was the only thing worthy of his attention.

**XXXXX**

"Ravage, Eject."

A black-grey cassette leapt out from Soundwave's chest-compartment. By the time it hit the dusty ground of Oregon dessert, it was revealed to be Ravage, a panther-shaped Casetticon that specialized in interception and infiltration. Once activated, the metallic feline emitted growls that spoke of the excitement that he was about to face when presented with an Autobot to harass. Ravage might be small in size comparison to the other Decepticons, but his battle spirit was just as fiery, if not more in some occasions.

Soundwave responded to the cassette's hyperactivity by dropping a servo upon his triangular head, stroking in soothing manners that others would have found rather uncharacteristic to be executed by the Decepticon Communication Expert. His turn would come soon enough, but not just yet; his role would began when another of his Cassetticon had finished his job and returned with information needed for Ravage to act upon. The touches his Master granted eased some of the impatience brewing in his rather primitive systems and Ravage dropped on all fours, the growls changing into low purrs.

High above, cruising at an altitude of nearing a thousand feet high from the ground, Laserbeak rode the air like an Earth's organic eagle. Though cloud covers made it impossible to detect the minuscule red dot in the background of white-smeared blue visually, the link between the cassette and his tape-player master was maintained throughout Laserbeak's reconnaissance trip over the airspace of the Ark, hence the continual report being passed to Soundwave.

Soundwave and his Casetticons were alone in this reconnaissance mission that was set by Megatron; no other Decepticons were present to back them up should something went out of servo which was the reason of the Communication Expert's outmost secrecy. He had been lingering just outside the Autobot's the Ark for two orns now (to be chronometer-exact, 47 joors, 42.8 kliks and 3.09 astroseconds), waiting with that quiet patience he was so famous with, looking just for the right target to victimize. All that solitary huddling in the midst of no-man land paid off, eventually, if Laserbeak's latest report was of anything to be judged by – and the eagle-Casetticon was among the elite of Decepticon spies. One did not garner such title with conveying faulty information.

Another secret frequency was sent over the connection of which was readily interpreted by the communication officer as a request to return. It was responded with a code that indicated approval and before long, a small figure broke out of a particularly dense cloud cluster directly above Soundwave. Rocketing downwards with velocity that made the metal bird appeared as a mere crimson streak, Laserbeak's squawk announced his descent to the master as well as Ravage at the side; Soundwave pushed the eject button on top of his chest-piece, opening the cassette-compartment of which the mecha-bird flew straight into, transforming into a compact cassette as he did. Ravage watched with mild interest, more in concern of his next task rather than the return of his comrade.

The cassette-player concentrated on the data streaming from cassette-Laserbeak via the networks established; previously-recorded videos as seen through the mecha-eagle's optics were replayed before his optics, as well as reports that came with it. CPU-processing kicked into activation as he analyzed the facts and figures presented with efficiency almost unrivalled by any existing Transformers – except perhaps by Shockwave...or the Autobot Prowl. Both were incredibly famous for their analyzing capability which was the reason why the former was appointed the Guardian of Cybertron by the Decepticon Supreme Commander and the latter being the Second since even the era of Sentinel Prime – a long time even for Transformers' standard.

"Ravage," the Decepticon Communication Expert called, alerting said feline to his initiation for a wireless network, who linked to his master readily. Data from Laserbeak's surveillance flowed forth, integrating itself into Ravage's databanks so that the others' knowledge became his own. The whole process took less than two astroseconds, and at the end of it, the metal cat needed no telling of what to be done. With the kind of grace one would not exactly expect to be shown by a robot, Ravage bound out of his cover behind the shades of a rocky outcropping, legs powering up his sprint to reach a speed of nearly 60 kilometres per hour. Not bad for someone small and a cat-appearance as his root-mode.

Soundwave watched his minion went off with little foreboding; the same scene had been in motion ever since he joined the Decepticon, and the initial fear born from the expectation of never seeing Ravage back had been greatly diluted over the course of time, though the concern of the possibility of the even happening remained intact. Pushing again the eject button, he intoned, "Buzzsaw, eject."

Another cassette leapt out; its rectangular form transformed to become a twin of Laserbeak with only difference in the colouration – yellow with minor parts here and there painted in black. Buzzsaw was deployed this time in consideration that Laserbeak had been previously sent out to spy for quite a long period; his energy was now critically low for further use. The cassette-deck's gaze followed the retreating forms of his Casetticons until they were out of visual range, but the wireless connection he maintained between them remained functional. Real-time downloading allowed Soundwave to 'see' through Buzzsaw's optics, and, if the needs arise, to share the Casetticon's auditory as well as the other sensory perceptions. Strictly speaking, it was not telepathy since this special ability was only effective and accurate at short range – a dangerous liability where wars were concerned, especially with no immediate reinforcements available.

Soundwave stood transfixed, doing the only thing that was required of him as of now – wait for his Cassetticons finished their jobs.

Ravage's crossing across the flat plains of Oregon dessert was swift and silent, as was Buzzsaw's flying above him, out of optical sight, but not of his passive detection systems. Aside from the ignorable clouds of dust its slender paws kicked up in his passing, the place might as well be barren of all life forms or sentient beings. Ravage activated his navigation systems as he wound his way through the obstacles the landscape presented, careful to stay just out of range of the Autobot-starcruiser's security boundary; if it did breached the line, chances were that there would be a lot more Autobots to handle once the alarm was triggered compared to taking down this lone scout that would soon fall prey to Ravage. His target was still outside his field vision as of now, but Buzzsaw's bird eye-view allowed the other to spot the unfortunate Autobot from far away – he in turn relayed this information to Ravage below, who headed for the correct location immediately upon receiving its coordinate. Only a few kliks passed before Ravage's optics caught sight of a billowing stream of dust leaving the safety of the Ark to go on a scheduled patrol. Zooming in at the point of origin, Ravage spotted a familiar yellow Volkswagen Beetle there. He growled with wicked intention as anticipation flooded his processors, but he had to wait. Here was still too close to the Autobot Headquarter.

He trailed secretly after Bumblebee for a few more megamiles before Ravage made his move. By that time, his leg-bearings were strained almost to the limit – Ravage's design was not one for persistent pursuit – but not once was Ravage's pace slackened up to the point of impact; the metal panther's trajectory was at right angle to Bumblebee's and as their paths converged, Ravage slammed his side mightily against the Autobot's front door, a loud _clang _resonating in the area.

Ravage executed a series of rolls to lessen the impulsive force resulting from the contact – his own chassis was now littered with dents and scratches – but he had achieved what he intended. The Autobot skidded a few yards off his original path, coming to stop only after steering off course for a few Cybertronian metres. As he did, a young human leapt out through the front door – searching his databanks, the metal cat recognized the fleshling well since he was always present wherever Bumblebee was; Spike Witwicky...or something like that. He never cared much about the identities of the Earthlings. What was worthy of his attention was that Bumblebee had now reverted to his root-mode, no doubt to engage him in this more capable form.

Ravage did not wait a nanoklik longer; he came here not to test his strength. Now that he had lured the Autobot into transformation, phase two of Soundwave's plan could be executed. He sub-spaced a small bugging device and transferred it to the sole of his left paw – it was a convenient infiltration nanobot, a genius invention of Soundwave's whose sole purpose was to gather inside information without risking the 'life' and limbs of Ravage or any of his Casetticon sent out for spying missions. Now, all he needed to do was to latch it onto an unfortunate host – in this case, the Autobot Bumblebee.

The human was foolishly trying to thwart his advance with a miniature – well, miniature in context of Ravage's flank missiles – gun. Orange laser spat out from its barrel instead of the normally-primitive bullets characteristic of hand-held weapons native to the Earth, making it almost positive to be one designed by the Autobots. Which meant that it could be potentially dangerous should Ravage was hit. Plus that with Bumblebee who now had his laser gun aimed at him, the risk suddenly rocketed sky-high. However, Ravage was no coward and he was one very lithe Cybertronian cat – and taking down this mini-bot had always been a 'favourite' activity of his.

There was an audio-splitting screech sounding from above, and before either the human or the Autobot could comprehend what was happening, Buzzsaw came swooping down on the former. The eagle's claws missed Spike, who reflexively threw himself down upon setting his eyes on the Decepticon, by a few inches, but it had provided enough means of distraction for the plan to be perfected. While Bumbebee was occupied with the condition of his fleshling friend, Ravage pounced for the Autobot's horned helm, knocking him down to his knee-struts and bit down on the gun-holding arm hard enough to cut energon flow in its vital motor-cables, causing it to go limp. The weapon left the irresponsive digits and landed with a muffled _clang_ on the yielding sandy ground. Disarmed, Bumblebee writhed under the weight of his adversary – and for once, and much to Ravage's surprise – he succeeded. A swap by the servo sent the mecha-panther flying some few Cybertronian feet away, enough distance for Bumblebee to get to his pedes.

With the feline grace programmed into him, Ravage managed to twist his chassis mid-air so that his paws would receive the ground instead of his head. He landed lightly, unsettling no more than a small cloud of dust and rock debris. Bumblebee's limp servo had now regained its usefulness, seeing that there was no jaws to restrict its movements now, and with it, the 'bot had reached for his dropped gun, the muzzle of which was pointing towards Ravage. The cassette-cat had no need to fight anymore, though, that the nanobot had been successfully installed on the Autobot's lower-leg column upon the brief contact he had after knocking the other down. Through the private channel he had established with Buzzsaw, he had the bird-cassette to cover his retreat since the possession of flight capability gave Buzzsaw more flexibility to enter and leave a battle compared to Ravage.

With laser streaks accompanying his leave and Buzzsaw ensuring that he would not be pursued, Ravage left the battle scene with so much as a negligible scratch. Buzzsaw followed suit only after he was sure that Ravage was out of range. Together, the two Casetticons rushed back to their master's side.

Mission accomplished.

**XxXx**

Bumblebee was about to football-tackle Buzzsaw, who seemed intent in his quest to harass Spike Witwicky, when he realized all too late that Ravage had fled the place. Being a young mech he was and full with vigour, the fact that this troublesome kitty had managed to get away without a 'souvenir' from him irritated the yellow scout. Bumblebee opened fires, but only the ground exploded and not the targeted black chassis of the metal Decepti-kitty, who continued sprinting without so much as a backward glance. To his mild surprise, the yellow-black eagle-cassette had also abandoned his efforts in pursuing the young human and was now rising together with the thermals to heights that his laser gun could not reach.

Bumblebee rushed to the Witwicky's side who was currently hiding underneath a flat-surfaced rock whose crevice underneath provided a nice hiding spot from his enemies. The mini-bot was relieved to find that the human was fairly intact. Sure, there were bruises a little here and there from contacts with the Decepticon bird, but at least he was not in severe condition.

"Spike, are you okay?" Bumblebee asked nevertheless, fearing injuries that were invisible to naked optics.

"Think so," the young Witwicky answered after coughing out the dust that he had accidentally swallowed in his haste to get under cover. "Boy, this is really not a good way to start your day."

The yellow Autobot extended a servo to haul his human friend out of the hole and helped patted the dust off his shirt gently, mindful that though he was a small Cybertronian compared to the other Autobots, his strength was still greater than that possessed by a human. That done, he transformed back into the Volkswagen Beetle that was his alt-mode and opened a door for Spike to enter.

"This is bad. Decepticons this close to the Ark? What are they up to this time?" Spike wondered aloud while jumping into one of Bumblebee's seats. The Beetle's engine roared to life, but the car remained unmoving.

"Beats me, Spike. I gotta tell the others about this...my logic circuit is buzzing with 'maybes' right now, and I'm no good at guessing."

So saying, the Volkswagon's wheels began to roll, but to Spike's surprise Bumblebee was not heading towards the Ark; it seemed that the Autobot was resuming his previous track of patrol.

"Wait, aren't you gonna tell Prime about those Decepticons?" the human asked, bewildered.

"I can Prowl back at the Ark. He'll know what to do. I still have a patrol to finish. The report-datapads will just have to wait until I'm back."

"Oh."

Bumblebee contacted the Ark to inform the brief encounters he had with the Decepticon-cassettes and the strangeness of it that they decided to leave when it was obvious that they had the upper servo; it was not Prowl who responded to the call, but rather the panicky voice of Red Alert – that Lamborghini never sounded calm in whatever situations he was in. That he was informed of enemies' presences just launched the Security Director into full-fledged electro-glitch mode. A klik later, the still-online communication link was suddenly deprived of coherent words and was layered instead by the Lamborghini's shout and running pede-steps.

::Red Alert?:: Bumblebee called as the cacophony of commotions continued in the background.

Surprisingly, a much calmer, strict-toned voice answered the tentative call.

::No. Red Alert is now having his usual fits of panic attack and is now under Inferno's watch. This is Prowl.::

::Oh, okay. Did you get my reports, then?::

::I have. I'm dispatching Powerglide and Hound for cover in case they are still in the vicinity, though I doubt it very much.::

::Thanks, Prowl. I'll hand the official reports when I'm done scouting. Bumblebee out.::

::Acknowledged. Prowl out.::

Spike did not need to ask the details of their conversations; Bumblebee had put the comm. link into loudspeaker mode so that the teenager could hear too. After all, their friendship package came without secrets held from the other, and at any rate, it was not something private or strictly confidential.

"Let's just hope Soundwave isn't around too or we'll end up in more troubles that we can handle!" Spike piped in while leaning back into the pink-coloured seat of the Volkswagen. He had always wondered the peculiar choice of colour the Autobot had for his interiors when his paintjob was yellow – perhaps Teletraan-1 made the unfortunate mistake of scanning a hippy's vehicle when its SkySpy explored the Earth for suitable alt-modes for the Autobots. Still, Spike was not exactly complaining about it when the identity of the car was an alien transforming robot!

"Let's hope not," Bumblebee offered while tilting back the seat occupied by Spike to offer more comfort to the human. Wheels rolling, the Volkswagen Beetle traversed the vast expanse of the dessert with surprising sense of calmness; the terror and shock of having attacked by the enemies had now dissipated into mild disturbance that did nothing more than offer reminder of why they kept fighting the Great War. Because they simply must.

Unbeknownst to either man or machine, Ravage's spy-nanobot had taken a firm grip on Bumblebee's chassis, awaiting only the Autobot's return to the Ark to begin its devious task.

**XxXx**

Silver glints meant only one thing in the Nemesis, and that was the presence of Megatron, which in turned prompted a lot of speculations whether someone was in trouble, or that he was merely out checking on his soldiers, or perhaps he missed to have his aft cupped by his precious throne. Either way, it would be wise for anyone who happened to be crossing paths with him to bow and greet him with the equivalent of a slave to his master.

These orns, though, something about their fearless leader seemed quite out of his usual characteristics. Many had theorized that Megatron was undergoing age-induced CPU-meltdown. It was easy to see the reason behind this surge of belief; Lord Megatron did not seem very fond of staying locked up in his quarters like he was used to, and neither was he as frequent to amuse himself in sitting on his throne in the Command centre. And when he wandered the hallways of Nemesis, his angry glare when chancing upon Decepticons who in some way or another had displeased him ('some way or another' could be something as simple as giving curious glance), there was no Fusion blasts to accompany his mark of anger. In short, Megatron seemed a little too restless to be one of the 'I hate you, Prime' symptoms, and he was angered extremely easily these orns, but his wrath was no longer as fatal. Of course, no one dared to point this out to the Slag-Maker himself; the last to do so was one of the Reflector-gestalts, who was merely saying, "Megatron looks a bit different, isn't he?" to Rumble. Unfortunately, the subject of the conversation happened to be within audio range, and although not very much reliant on his Fusion Cannon, Megatron still had his fists. And pedes. That poor Reflector-gestalt had suffered a bent spinal strut after stamping a gloriously abstract art of his chassis-imprint on the mess hall's wall.

After that, no mech had dared voiced their opinions out loud when Lord Megatron had not been positively confirmed to be in recharge, but that did not stop the rumours from circulating...

Lord Megatron was very much aware of the talks going on in the base. So, they had thought that his motor-cables had gone soft, hadn't they? That his old Spark could not handle the brutalism a war offered? Well, he showed them...Nobody, NOBODY, would ever supersede him in his tyranny! One of the Reflector-gestalts had paid for his insolence – even to this klik, the Decepticon overlord still savoured the feel of having his anger relished, and the pitiful voice begging for forgiveness reminded him again why he was so fond of torturing his subjects, especially Starscream...

Speaking of Starscream, why wouldn't Soundwave returned yet? It had been two slagging, Pit-hole orns since he had sent the deputy-SIC on reconnaissance mission! That would make it...three orns since Starscream was put into the Autobot's smelting pit of a brig! Forget 'need', he _craved_ for valid, non-memory-drive-supplied information right now! How much patience he had to wrench out from the deepest recess of his Spark before his wish was fulfilled?

Caught in the turmoil of his emotions, even a passing Ramjet seemed like the ultimate nuisance for all the warlord cared – the Conehead visibly cowered when the Decepticon Supreme Commander shot him a very venomous look reminiscent to the one he usually gave to a Decepticon who had been found guilty of exceeding his daily energon rations. Ramjet executed a very clumsy bow and a nervous _hail, Lord Megatron _in response, no doubt to salvage what little favour he could gain from the gun-former. The ex-gladiator found no pleasure at this attempted ego-stroking, feeling instead the heat of annoyance crawling in his circuitries like some flea-bots and snapped, "Out of my way!" , ignoring completely the fact that the jet-former was pinning his back almost flat to the wall to give way to Megatron.

There was a dampened sound of gears turning and mechanical devices being activated; Megatron knew well what these sounds heralded and felt a rush of anticipation-excitement flooding his CPU, banishing the last trace of irritation the sight of Ramjet had previously presented him with. Only the raising of the docking tower produced such noises, and seeing that the patrolling mechs had just left, it was impossible for them to be back this early. This left only one choice as the cause of the tower's rise.

Soundwave had finally returned. And about _slagging _time too.

Turning around, Megatron's stride lengthened with every step he took towards the turbo-lift. Sure enough, the mech coming out of it was indeed Soundwave. From his rather jerky movements, Megatron could tell that under-energizing had started to take its toll on the cassette-player since none of them had anticipated that he would leave as long...but Megatron's patience was currently reserved for ONE thing only.

"Well, Soundwave?"

Said bot's chassis stiffened in perhaps fear, or surprise, or dread – with the damnable visor and face-mask in place, his expression was next to impossible to tell – but it could be guessed that whatever thoughts or emotions passing in Soundwave's CPU at the question were that of negativity. There was a slight pause in which Soundwave regained his composure before his hidden vocalizer intoned:

"Reconnaissance report: Spy-class nanobot has been successfully deployed on an Autobot. Further information yet to be obtained. Extended surveillance necessary."

Megatron listened to Soundwave's every word, latch on to it, drank every bit of details presented – and found himself becoming enraged by the mech before him. His optics flared to brightness characteristic every time he was insulted by Starscream or when he suffered defeat at the servo of Prime. Even his cooling fans kicked to life in response to the heat his inner circuitries generated.

"You return without ANY shred of information AT ALL?" Megatron's hiss was nothing if not exasperated. Already his servos were balled into ready-to-punch fists, a reaction that the Communication Expert had never been exposed to – thus it was understandable that a usually stoic mech like Soundwave took a step backwards in alarm. Megatron had never shown any sign of physical aggression towards his most precious soldier before. No, this kind of situation was normally reserved for Starscream only, not Soundwave. The cassette-player's visor glowed orange with alert and his Spark pulsed with increasing frequency.

"Did I not make myself clear that you are NOT to return until you have obtained useful information?"

Megatron's imposing form closed in on Soundwave; his slightly greater height was enough for the tyrant to give an impression of towering over the subordinate mech who retreated even further at the obvious threats he was presented with. A low humming sound suddenly echoed in the area when Megatron charged his Fusion Cannon to a dangerously high level. Had Soundwave had lesser composure, it was likely that the Decepticon Communication Expert would have fled without further thoughts.

"Explanations: available," Soundwave uttered; his monotonic voice was slightly coloured by a hint of nervousness, detectable only in the slight wavering of syllables when spoken.

Megatron's optic ridge arched in scepticism. Nevertheless, he replied tightly, dentas gritting together as if every word cost him energy worth an energon cube, "Then DO enlighten me." As if to accentuate his impatience, the business end of his Fusion Cannon was lifted to rest threateningly upon the glass of the cassette-deck's front panel.

"Reason for early leave: Surveillance better if carried out via Nemesis's computers. Spy-nanobot's system directly connected to the starcruiser's security system. Consequence: Better feedbacks from nanobot."

Megatron's CPU worked fast in processing Soundwave's arguments. In the end, after a long, painfully silent klik, the arm-long cannon was lowered, its charge dissipated by a silent command from the warlord, the weapon having been integrated to his systems to allow such degree of control over it. He did so rather unwillingly, though, with his anger still strongly circulating in his systems, producing heats that were both unwanted and unneeded. The cooling fans had sped up their rotations to 50% their maximum rotation-per-klik, but Megatron's circuitries were still under threat of overheating.

"Continue surveillance. I want reports on anything and everything that you deem usable. And make sure you don't disappoint me again, Soundwave," he ordered in that cold, growling voice that marked his held-back exasperation from exploding full-scale.

Soundwave replied with a rather shaky, "Affirmative, Lord Megatron," if the subtle dips and rises in his usually flat tone were of any indication. Megatron harrumphed in return, turning his back dismissively towards the communication officer and walked off.

Soundwave had long forgotten what it was like to face the possibility of permanent deactivation; his encounter with Megatron reminded him just that, and despite his self-composure, it took all the will in him NOT to surrender to the weakness spreading in his structures. If he did, the uncharacteristic surrendering to his fear would have been watched with morbid fascination by the others which would continue to breed into humiliating news. The fact that Blitzwing happened to be nearby when Megatron left the place made it all the more urgent to keep his image – the triple-changers were not famous for their trustworthiness.

"Heh, what's the matter, Soundwave? Can't handle Megatron like Starscream did?" Blitzwing mocked from his place, a Spark-aching smirk spreading across the aircraft-tank-former.

"Subject irrelevant to Blitzwing's concern. Suggestion: Leave immediately," Soundwave replied, sending out a high-frequency sonic disturbance in Blitzwing's direction that generally had discouraging effects on the victim. A glimpse on his mental state informed Soundwave that his subtle weapon had left the desired marks on the triple-changer.

"Fine," Blitzwing snapped and stalked off into one of the adjoining corridors, leaving the navy-and-white mech alone to ponder on his fate if Megatron's desire was not fulfilled. Only now that he was in this state himself, he could appreciate the tremendous distress that Starscream was forced to cope under the ever-demanding nature of their leader. Still, if what he had gleaned from Megatron's unstable meta-processors was accurate regarding his feelings towards Starscream...the Seeker was in a far more comfortable position compared to Soundwave. After all, being a 'favourite soldier' of Megatron was no guarantee of not being slagged if you happened to displease the ex-gladiator.

Sparing himself a sigh so silent that it was practically inaudible, Soundwave started towards the Nemesis Command Centre, all intentions focused towards fulfilling the 'request' of his leader.

**XxXx**

Having come to terms with his feelings had not made it any easier to Megatron. His ego was as humongous as Cybertron itself, and even though he now knew the reason his optics couldn't seem to stop from straying towards Starscream whenever the devious Seeker was around, he was not in any case going to say it out loud. Not even a whisper. For Pit's sake, he was the Ultimate Slag-Maker, the soon-to-be Emperor of the Universe, the Lord of Cybertron! How he came to develop such weakness towards the tri-coloured jet was a miracle in itself...let alone to understand it. But understand he did – he was not a fool in any case – and with the revelation, felt heaviness weighing in his Spark whenever his thought was turned towards the captured Seeker.

Starscream...

Without his consent, Megatron's CPU was suddenly engulfed in processor-drift more realistic that he had ever experienced. Stored files were being extracted from his databanks, and to his surprise, the chosen memories that his processors had decided to recall was one originating from as far back as nine million stellar cycles ago, when Decepticons were yet to rise and his name was still nothing more than an exceptional gladiator.

It was the time of his first encounter with Starscream.

...

_Megatron fumed as he oriented his limbs into more relaxed positions while leaning back into the metal seat he was provided with. Even that gave him insufficient comfort, seeing that his systems were currently wracked with pain that one of his arms had been sliced off in his latest gladiatorial battle, a cost that he endured in exchange of a victory...and continued existence. Oh yes, life as a champion of Kaon's illegal Arena was tough – winning was the only way to stay alive – but it was a choice Megatron had made gladly, looking at the fact that the alternative was to spent the rest of his activation cycle in prison._

_Fighting back the urge to display his pain, Megatron vented out a heavy sigh through his external vents – what were left of them, that is. Almost all visible parts of his armours were dented, scratched or ripped off by his opponents, who had paid the price with their lives soon after the damages were inflicted on Megatron's frame. Power cables and various other wires were attached to his chassis while the fixations commenced – already his self-repair systems were working hard to repair the other minor damages that he sustained. In his one intact servo, he held a purple pendant attached to a chain, the symbol of his gladiator team which consisted of himself, Rumble and Frenzy. The original design was less of sharp angles and more curved lines – now that he had modified it, the insignia now resembled more or less a wicked face. Perfect. _

_Of course, Megatron was unaware of it, but in the near future, the symbol for his three-team gladiator team would later be worn by thousands of other Cybertronians who would called themselves as the 'Decepticons', a faction created and nurtured by Megatron himself to bring the catastrophic changes in the politics and societies of Cybertron. And the Great War was re-ignited soon after..._

_As of now, though, the ambition for universal domination was still elusive to this younger version of Megatron. Fighting, winning, and struggling to stay alive were his priorities since the accidental murder he had committed on a Senate. He no longer regretted the loss of life, though, seeing how lives at Kaon was such a lowly business and grew his hatred towards the ruling Autobot council for allowing such miserable existences on Cybertron. However, he DID envision a brighter Kaon, a less-bloody Kaon, and to make his dream a reality, it has to start somewhere..._

_His dark musings, still somewhat far from the picture of himself ruling the WHOLE planet as its sole Lord, was shattered when he realized a familiar-looking mech approaching him. It was none other than Soundwave._

"_Hnnn...What do YOU want?" he acknowledged the other Transformer rather grudgingly; he was in no mood to talk but knew well that Soundwave would not come to him if the matter he brought along was unimportant of his concern._

"_Your request: For a flight-capable combatant?" Soundwave replied, his voice as flat-sounding as ever, rising only slightly at the end to denote his sentence as a question._

_Megatron's optic ridge shot up in a display of interest; yes, he did express a request for such warrior before. He himself had forgotten of ever wishing for it, so engrossed he was in the glory a battle offered him. Tilting his tattooed helm slightly so as to allow better optical contact with his agent – not that he could exactly look at the other's viewing sensory equipments with a visor shielding over them – Megatron growled, "Hrm...You have one?"_

"_Negative. I present THREE."_

_Apparently, it was the cue for said warriors to show themselves; three pairs of elegantly-designed legs stepped inside the Restoration Chamber, each step as arrogant-looking as their owners, who were themselves bathed in a sense of self-centredness that shouted for optics to be riveted upon their sleek chasses. _

_It was then that Megatron saw _him.

_The three newcomers were Seekers, each one coloured distinctly from the others despite the similarity in their frame-designs. One of them was coloured in bold black and purple paintjobs with bits here and there in white. The other was of harmonious combination of light blue, white and a little black. But the individual who had caught his attention was painted most flamboyantly compared to the other two, with bright red adorning the hip-plates and chest-piece, blue on the lower arm-column and white for the rest of his chassis. The last Seeker was also set apart from the others by the colour of his faceplates; his were of darker grey, making the red optics blazing beneath the protruding hood of his helm looked even more sinister than they already were._

_Barely did Megatron register Soundwave's voice floating to his audios, "Skywarp, Thundercracker...and Starscream."_

_For some unfathomable reason, it was the last designation that ensnared his attention – and somehow, he knew to whom it belonged. The three Seekers were almost identical save for their colour schemes, but it was Starscream, the last one, who had garnered his interest. Perhaps his instinctive drive could detect that the red-blue-white tetra-jet was the spoke-mech among them. Their trineleader. His faceplates certainly qualified him of the prestigious title; smugness seemed to be his default expression, with a corner of his lip-components twitched slightly upwards into a no-one-was-greater-or-more-good-looking-than-me smirk. _

"_Mmm...Uhh..Meg –" The Seeker called Starscream suddenly lost all of his previous self-confidence as his vocalizer strained to produce intelligent sound. Then, as if drawing on his emergency reserve of bravery, he fell upon his knee-bearings in one graceful motion and bowed, "Megatron! I pledge my allegiance undying!" _

_Megatron's lip-components shaped themselves into a smirk; so, this Starscream was apparently an aft-kisser. The champion gladiator had no qualms over this little luxury, but he did not allow himself to immerse in the sinful pleasure of it for too long. Instead, he schooled his faceplates into critical-interviewing-mode and grunted, "Heh...You can FLY?"_

_It was a half-rhetorical question. The exact answer was obvious, seeing the elegant, sharp-angled wings rising from behind the Seekers. What he DID want to know was their true capabilities in flight._

_Fortunately, Starscream grasped his intention easily and replied, smugness again colouring his demeanour, "Beyond THREE times the speed of sound. ALL of us."_

_There were more that Starscream gave in answer, but Megatron's sensory perceptions seemed unable to focus on the words being spoken. Instead, he found himself ravishing the sights of this one Seeker with his optics hungrily, every curve and seam in the other's armours readily mapped into his databanks. Oh yes...Starscream had valid reasons for his vanity with his chassis being so exquisitely painted and buffed for this meeting. A sleek chassis for unmatched flying skill, or so the tetra-jets had been rumoured to be capable of. And yet...there was something about this Starscream that Megatron found irresistible. Alluring. _Seductive.

_For a few imperceptibly short astroseconds, processor-drift caught Megatron as he continued examining the lead Seeker. When Megatron had expressed his ambition to recruit a flying fighter, the gladiator had in his mind a vision of carnage, his desire to banish the Autobot-controlled Security Force and overwhelmed Kaon with followers of his own...a destruction that the Seekers would help ignited. However, as his optics trailed along the exotic designs of Starscream's frame, he could not help but imagining his own servos molesting the contours of the flyer's chassis, digits probing deep into seams where sensitive nerve clusters were hidden, driving this proud Seeker into a mess of moaning metals begging to be taken –_

_An alien warmth suddenly touching the surface of his consciousness brought him back to reality; he knew this sensation and seethed silently, realizing that it was Soundwave's doing in an attempt to bring himself to focus on the current situation. Damn that telepathy of his – the navy-and-white mech must have taken a glimpse on the erotic fantasy floating around in his meta-processors, which was admittedly a rather embarrassing matter for his agent to be in the know. Still, it was not like libido was a peculiar thing for a Transformer to experience...especially with such exotic-looking creatures standing before him..._

_Enough. Time to get his pedes back on Cybertron instead of floating around in delicious imaginations._

"_Hnnn."_

_His simple growl was enough to stop Starscream's seemingly endless tirade of which Megatron vaguely registered as an expression of the gladness and honour bestowed upon them in giving the chance to fight alongside him in the gladiatorial arena._

"_The Arena? No, no. I have something much BETTER for you and yours," Megatron explained, amused at the resentment evident on the Seekers' faceplates at his denial. Well, they should know that what he had in mind was far more glorious than tainting their servos in the lowly Arena._

"_Don't look so disappointed. You WILL wear my badge –"_

_Megatron lifted the newly-replaced arm and clenched the servo into a fist, testing the compatibility of it with the rest of his systems – and found himself immensely satisfied by the result._

" – _and you WILL kill for me."_

_The balled servo retracted, leaving a useless stump in its place which seemed to be surrounded with violet aura. The stump lengthened into some kind of a rod, and out from the tip an intense glow of purple energy spewed forth. _

"_In this time of change –"_

_The purple energy field began to take form as well as solidity; before long, a menacing-looking Morningstar was formed, a new weapon for him to spill more energon blood. Only this time, the devastation would spread beyond the confines of the Arena. Kaon would be flooded with energon of Megatron's victims. _

" – _we must all be flexible...Hmm?" _

_The Morningstar left the desired effect on the Seekers. The sight of it was intimidating, that much Megatron admitted...but he was also pleased how his new recruits seemed determined to carry out his bidding. _

_Starscream was the only one among the three with enough sense to reply, "Yes...My Lord."_

_Megatron nodded, satisfied with the acceptance and the title with which Starscream had called himself. His eagerness for battles flooded his systems, the sensation made even more potent as he imagined the level of destruction the Seekers were capable of._

_And yet...amidst the roiling of bloodlust and anticipation for brutality, a small part of him, the part that had prompted the images of Starscream in the throes of passion and lust, with him joining along the ride to the ultimate pleasure, persisted. Little did he know that this part would survive in the cold cruelty of his Spark to grow into one emotion that he had been missing for so long..._

_..._

Megatron had barely enough presence of mind to notice that his aimless wandering had brought him back to the safety of his living quarters. The hissing of door sliding shut pulled him back to the current orn. The Decepticon warlord heaved an exhausted sigh as the processor-drift, enhanced by the longing for his Air Commander thanks to the memory drive's doing, was shattered into tiny pieces of nothingness. His first thought was to get back out there and continued his roaming just for the sake of keeping himself busy...then decided against it. Stationary or no, his thoughts would always turn towards the absent Seeker. He might as well sit down and took his time to cool his still-prickling anger towards Soundwave for returning without reliable information.

Detaching the Fusion Cannon from his arm, he set the weapon beside his recharge berth before he seated himself on the berth's flat surface. It was only behind the door of his living quarters that utter privacy was guaranteed, and thus, only here would he let his exhaustion showed. The Decepticon Supreme Commander was still rather surprised at the surge of jealousy he had felt when seeing/feeling/hearing Starscream being touched by an Autobot – and it was Skyfire, none the less, the Pit-damned traitor! Such jealousy it was, the hurt it sparked in reaction to it was more than enough to keep him from using the memory drive anymore, hating to witness similar encounters between those two should he ever activated the gadget again. Megatron was not a coward, but the anonymity of the situation made controlling his and Starscream's fates impossible – and it was this simple fact that threw him into such miserable mood. The tyrant rarely acknowledged that the situations were out of control or feeling himself powerless of the proceedings. This time, however, the two dreads were real, as real as the fact that Starscream was captured and at the mercy of his most hated enemies...

NO! He would not let himself being degraded into this position! He would take control, and he would crush all who stood in his path! Spark searing with anger and determination, his vocalizer spat out an oath that he would keep to the best of his ability:

"Starscream...I WILL have you back in here even if I have to destroy this mudball of a planet to achieve it!_"_


	8. Chapter 8

Prowl could not honestly recalled since when he had picked up the habit of breaking the recharge cycle so early in the orn – it was a routine that had been going on for so long that his systems had somewhat calibrated to the hectic schedule he had to endure during his active period and the slightly imbalanced recharge time he allowed himself. To the other mechs not used to such deprivation, it would cause exhaustion and inefficiency, but the Autobot Second had been practising it for a while now, back in the era of Sentinel Prime, that he would automatically break his recharge whether there were works waiting for him in the reality or not.

The sun was yet to rise – only a few beams of its earliest lights coloured the Eastern horizon – and already the Datsun-former was flitting between the various consoles found in the Ark's Command Deck, flipping switches and pushing buttons with speed and precision born from practices and familiarity, getting the Autobot Headquarter ready for the business that lay ahead. Usually, he would be aided by Red Alert but the Security Director was on short leave in the medical bay, the electro-glitch having consumed his systems into haywire. It would be a few more joors before Ratchet would allow him out of the 'hospital' – until then, the Command Deck should be Prowl's alone. Fate however seemed to have in mind (figuratively speaking) a slightly different scenario to the Datsun's expectation because suddenly he found himself in the company of a rather large Autobot.

For all the above-the-par size of Skyfire's chassis, the giant shuttle moved with such epitomic grace that had only Mirage and Tracks to rival with. His movements were always insulated with silent that the announcement to his coming was more of a sudden blockage of view rather than the _clang-clang_ of his pede-steps. Come to think of it, it was Brawn and Ironhide who were competing for the title of 'King of Stomping Around' in the Ark despite their smaller sized compared to the Autobot flyer.

"Good morning. I'd thought that you'll be here already," Skyfire began. As always, whatever words that spilled from his vocalizer would almost always be accompanied by a smile, just the thing he was doing right now.

"Of course. And speak for yourself; you're an early bird too – No pun intended," Prowl acknowledged the other and hastily added the last part when his logic circuits caught on that equalizing a flight-capable mech with a bird, whether Cybertronian or Earth-born, were sometimes interpreted as an insult. Now, Prowl had meant that 'bird' to be a figure of speech of which Jazz seemed to be fond of using ever since he befriended the Earthlings, but most mechs still did not have strong grasp on human's expression and idioms.

Fortunately, the expression that graced the larger Autobot's faceplates was one of amusement instead of its opposite – clearly Skyfire had taken the meaning well. "I realize. And no offence taken as well."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"There is. I'm signing as Starscream's guard for this orn."

Prowl had an astrosecond to look puzzled before his practicality took over the pause in the moments; turning on a pede, he crossed over towards one of Teletraan-1's minor screens and pushed certain keys on its panel. His blue optics glowed with curiousity as he scanned the long list that popped up on it, before settling down to their default intensity as understanding dawned upon him.

"Ah, so you're Hound's replacements?" Prowl asked, just for the sake of further confirmation.

Bumblebee's submission of his reports had created quite a ruckus in the Ark – though Autobots and Decepticons were at war with each other for millions of stellar cycles already, their usual clashes rarely occurred within proximity of either's Headquarter, owing to the obvious suicidal nature in doing so without proper preparations. The fact that Ravage and Buzzsaw had shown up so close beyond the Ark's security boundary was something that merited a high concern on the Autobot's part. That they were Soundwave's symbiotes made Prowl even more agitated than he already were ever since Starscream was brought back to the Autobot main base – and caused an almost total CPU meltdown in Red Alert, which prompted an immediate order from Ratchet to have the Security Director confined to the med-bay until the CMO deemed his condition satisfactory.

Naturally, Hound had insisted on extensive scouting to detect any remaining Decepticon in the vicinity and had actually volunteered himself to carry it out – though he was scheduled for sentry duty at Starscream's brig at that time, the tracker had promised Prowl that a substitute would report to him early in the orn. There was really no argument for the validity of Hound's request – the jeep-former's scanner was among the best there was that could be found on Cybertron, capable of sniffing out Decepticon's presence from megamiles away. If there were hostiles in the area, it was him who stood the best chance of discovering them. Thus, though with slight reluctance on the Second's part due to the complexity in schedule re-arrangement would present, Prowl granted the tracker his stamp of approval.

There was little other reasons for Skyfire's appearance at the Command Deck, especially at such hour – even though it was a common knowledge among the Ark's residents that their scientists were among those minor who rose early enough to see the sun coming out of its heavenly cradle, they did not exactly wander around the hallways like most of them tended to do, preferring to be confined in their working spaces and passing the time peering through a microscope, as in Perceptor's case, or just viewing around through SkySpy's live-feed video like Beachcomber did. Skyfire...well, Prowl doubted that anyone really knew his activity in the lone joors, but he was just as isolated as his scientific comrades though by no means of arrogance whatsoever.

"I am," the giant shuttle responded to the question asked, then added, "Also, I am informed by Hound that he will also be taking Trailbreaker as a back-up –"

"– I have had Bluestreak assigned as your companion," Prowl informed readily; it so happened that Trailbreaker's turn for guard duty coincided with Hound's – and the pair was the most common in the troop to be sent out to track or spy on enemies . Granting one more wish of Hound was no issue to Prowl, whose fast-calculating processors pulled out suitable candidates for replacement almost instantaneously. There were Blaster, Brawn, Jazz, Huffer, Hoist, Grapple...the list was almost endless as far as mundane processors that were in no way as efficient as Prowl's concerned. However, running through Bluestreak's logs, the gunner was free of critical duties for almost a quartex and thus earning him the unpleasant job of hearing Starscream's unceasing grouses. Good thing that Skyfire's nature was the total opposite of the Decepticon's or the young Praxian would be in for audio-shattering quarrels – so far, no guards had missed reporting of verbal sparring with the Seeker at the end of their shifts.

To Prowl's surprise, Skyfire's wings executed a slight shifting that the police-patroller could only equalize as a demonstration of disappointment. Though their builds differed as much as Earth was to Cybertron, his doorwings and the fliers' 'true' wings shared roughly the same body languages with a few ignorable deviations from each other – and thus, enabled Prowl to somewhat 'read' the emotions that might be brewing inside the wings' owners. The urge to ask the Autobot flier about it was quenched, however, when he realized that the calm faceplates did not waver towards any specific emotional expressions – Prowl took the sign that either Skyfire did not really conscious of the wing display or that he was unwilling to talk about it.

"Then I have no more use here," Skyfire replied, his tone kindly and not at the slightest sounding offended – Had Prowl did not notice the subtle drooping of his wings, the shuttle might had as well feeling absolutely nothing. It was always a marvel to Prowl to see a mech whose stoicism surpassed his capability to put forward a professional facade.

"Yes, you may go now."

Skyfire offered a gracious dip of his helm in return before leaving the Command Deck. Prowl watched the retreating shuttle with a corner of his optics, somehow still intrigued to the peculiar reactions he had read from the other's wings. However, Prowl was no telepathic processor-filter, and whatever thoughts that actually contributed to the mysterious displays remained unknown to the tactician.

_**XxXx**_

_This is ridiculous,_ thought Starscream, half-mourning half-amused by the thoughts that chose to visit him at this moment, _I thought being somebody's prisoner would be a lot more adventurous._

Apparently, though, Autobots were such hard-core do-gooders that even imprisonment in their servos was such an uneventful experience. Starscream knew that it was unreasonable for him to complain about it – had he been an Autobot and happened to be the Decepticon's captive, the Seeker would be in for a lot worse fate than being bored to permanent deactivation. He should know, since being the Second more often than not require him to participate in Megatron's captive-torturing session. The ideas that the gun-former's CPU could come up with were as weird as they were painful. Starscream had a great tolerance for pain, his sensors having been calibrated for such magnitude of abuses under almost-constant pressure from his leader, but even he could barely suppress his shivers from rocking his chassis – even now, when he was far away from the other's harming servos. Unless Megatron was a teleporter like Skywarp, it was safe to assume that the silver tyrant was not going to show himself up anytime soon. A thought which was supposed to calm the Seeker's nerve-clusters...

...and yet, Starscream found himself disturbed at the notion. Briefly he wondered whether boredom had actually fried his logic circuits (in which case, he had to admit that the Autobots were being evilly genius in treating their prisoners) but a quick internal scan confirmed that his systems were in as perfect conditions as they could get, minus the low energy state he was in. It was a terrifying thought, in a way – Had Starscream became so severely masochistic that the thought of being parted from his leader unsettled him?

"Crazy, illogical, and downright insane," the jet-former muttered under the anxious whirs of his cooling fans. Starscream had no objection when someone labelled him as cruel – after all, he did enjoy the little liberties the Decepticon Supreme Commander imparted to him to get creative with his victims – but to actually like pain? Maybe some Decepticons would, but not him. Missing Megatron's punishments was an alien, unperceivable concept to him that even Starscream's logic parameters could not come to terms. The Decepticon Supreme Commander had never treated him with anything but contempt and humiliation, even though all he had tried to do was to correct his flaws or make a suggestion. But no, that would implement the weakness in the supposedly-perfect Megatron...and Starscream would be subjected to the beatings his words had earned. From this, grew his desire to overthrow the silver mech and sit in his throne. It was a sad reality, because all he ever wanted was Megatron's appreciation at his greatness and recognition to his contributions to the Decepticon's cause. In the end, it all turned horribly twisted and the vicious power struggle that held as long as either of them functioned began...

The familiar sound of the door sliding open brought Starscream's attention back to his physical surroundings. Images of Megatron running before his optics vanished as reality grabbed hold of his processors. Starscream pushed himself upright from his original lying-down-on-the-berth position, his vocalizer circuits almost tingling with anticipation for some verbal fights. Echoes of their pede-steps grew progressively louder as the newcomers approached his cell; Voices floated to him from the direction of the entrance, and although one of them sounded youngish and unrecognizable to any mech he had so far encountered, the other was definitely not. His chassis tensed as if expecting injuries to be inflicted, though his Spark actually thumped with something that Starscream's processors could only analyze as glee, a sensation which dimmed somewhat as the figure of a mech came into his limited viewing range; clearly a land-based vehicle, he was a mech with strikingly similar build as the Autobot's Second, though in his tone his youth was still fresh and his enthusiasm evident, if the speed of his talking was of any indication.

"Are you sure you can handle it alone? Because Smokescreen has told me that his audios barely functioned after guarding Starscream for two joors because apparently he ranted non-stop and I don't want you to lose your hearing, but really, I WANT to accompany you but I've promised Sunny and Siders before that I'm going out with them but Prowl had me to accompany you and I don't think telling him that –"

"_Bluestreak_," the other mech whose voice seared Starscream's Spark with mounting expectation, spoke, stressing the designation in an unspoken _you can stop explaining now_, "I understand. You cannot tell Prowl that you are leaving your duty just to have fun. I can handle Starscream here by myself – you just run along now, or I'm going to have the Twins nagging at my afterburners."

"Really really?" The Prowl-like mech inquired, sounding hopeful and concerned at the same time. "You are not going to tell Prowl, aren't you?"

"Of course not. Go, I'll be fine here. But mind you, I cannot guarantee if Prowl happens to find out about this nevertheless." The speaking mech was still out of Starscream's field of vision, but from the volume of his voice he was definitely near by now.

"Thanks, Skyfire! I owe you one, and if you ever need me just beep my comm. – "

"Bluestreak, I know. _You _take care of yourself," Skyfire assured for the last time before a set of pede-steps could be heard leaving the brig area – and Starscream knew then that he and Skyfire were alone. Uninterrupted for perhaps joors.

Propping himself on the berth, Starscream decided that he would just wait for Skyfire's coming instead of rushing towards him, saving what little dignity that he still could after revealing so much of his emotions towards the giant shuttle in their previous meeting. Subconsciously, the tip of his glossa went out to lick his lip components in remembrance of the kiss he had demanded from his not-so-friend-anymore – and suddenly missing a repeat performance of it. A small, remote part of his CPU whispered warnings that this forbidden liaison would eventually reach the knowledge of Megatron back in the Nemesis if that Rust-bucket still possessed his mysterious telepathic ability. If that came to reality, Starscream could almost guarantee a permanent deactivation within an astrosecond of reunion with the tyrant, either from his Fusion blast or by rather crude methods of kicking, punching and other manners of bodily abuses. The cold dread that came with the thought was strong, but it was erased the instant Skyfire's white helm appeared at a corner of the cell – the rest of his chassis was shielded by the wall still.

"Starscream?"

Said Seeker feigned surprise at Skyfire's emergence, and then allowed a smirk to spread his lip-components to the sides. Raising himself slightly on an elbow-joint, Starscream locked his optics upon the shuttle's blue ones, letting them flare for a brief moment as if to relay his impatience.

"Took you long enough," the Decepticon grumbled while positioning himself into a true sitting posture, though he let his long leg-columns to stretch out before him – hissing slightly as the energy-chains still attached to his left pede got in his movements.

_Pit, I could've been the most alluring 'bot in the whole universe if only I'm not being chained,_ Starscream swore in silence as he realized that the momentary grimace he had made must have ruined the look he had composed to welcome Skyfire. His pectoral vents cycled out a single rush of air in response to the irritation, which was quickly eradicated the instant his optics zoomed in on the giant flyer's faceplates. Pride filled the Seeker as he realized the expression that shaped the contours of Skyfire's facets. _ Screw that; I can look good even with the cuff on._

True enough, the intensity of the Autobot's optic glow increased by three to four factors, enough to indicate interest on his part – the square jaws were visibly tightened as Skyfire's powerful self-restraint struggled to bring his chivalrous self back to the surface. It succeeded, obviously, by the way his optics lost their luminescence to settle down to their normal brightness. Starscream was impressed by the display of internal strength although he already knew the level of control the shuttle was capable of. In fact, that Skyfire had actually rushed in to embrace his slighter frame prior to their kissing had astonished the Seeker so much, since being a conservative mech he was meant that Skyfire rarely let his emotions guided his motor-controls. Clearly, yesterday was an exception to his self-imposed principle. Not that Starscream had any denial for that – Far from it, in fact.

" 'Long'? But it is barely morning now; you can't have broken your recharge for more than two joors, at the very most – and besides, I come as soon as I can," the shuttle returned, his optic ridge arching quizzically in honest puzzlement.

Rolling an eye was obviously not a choice for Starscream – for a start, the jet-former had no said organ to roll – but he could flicker his optics rapidly in an equivalent of it. This was exactly what he was doing upon hearing the shuttle's reply. Primus, why did Skyfire had the ability to counter everything he said with reasons and logic? And that Pit-damned calmness of his...!

"_Skyfire_," Starscream began; the other's name came out as a hissed whisper through gritted dentas, irritated and yet attracted to his innocence. "It's a figure of speech, you glitch-head! Will you just stop being so _fragging _calm about it and GET YOUR AFT IN HERE!"

Okay, so Starscream did end up being the one 'asking' for Skyfire to approach him eventually, but there was really no helping it. Skyfire always had such huge reserve for patience, something that the Seeker was always lacking, and to compete with the Autobot in this aspect was clearly a futile effort on Starscream's part. When the other actually chuckled at his display of impatience, Starscream could almost swore that he was going to make the shuttle paid BIG time for daring such a bold action.

"Alright, Starscream. You don't have to be so demanding about it," the larger mech answered after some of his mirth had dissipated – and Starscream's Spark fluttered with excitement he could barely contain. Still, he held the urge to stand up and greet the other at bay, contenting himself to wait for Skyfire to come and get him.

The energy bars were gone in series of sizzles after the correct password had been keyed in; this time, Skyfire waited for all of them to completely disappear before stepping into his cell – dimly he noticed that the singe mark on the tip of the Autobot's pede from being burnt by the cell's vanishing safety-rods had gone, perhaps being mended overnight by his self-repair system; if his memory banks still served, the shuttle possessed some of the most fastest damage-fixing protocols among the Transformersthat he had ever met. Small wonder then that Skyfire could appear unmarred only after a few joors of separation.

Through whatever gaps between Skyfire's wings and twin fuel-packs, Starscream watched as the view of outside the brig becoming striated with orangey stripes when the energy-rods reappeared from top to bottom, once again sealing the captive Seeker inside. A small part of Starscream's CPU was depressed by the mere thought of it, but his friend's bulky size unwittingly demanded his attention; The Autobot had came to sit down on the berth beside his Decepticon-friend, an energon cube in a servo and an awkward smile on his lip-components.

Starscream could not suppress a devilish grin from re-shaping his mouth contours and remarked, "Heh, nice trick to get rid of that Autobot friend of yours, by the way."

The response was immediate; the wings on his back stood more upright than before; subtle tremors ran through them. Blue optics flashed with what only could be called as offended reaction. It was surprising for Starscream to see that kind of expression from the large flyer – rarely did Skyfire react so dramatically to his advances that the Seeker was almost unsettled to see him so.

"I did not send Bluestreak away just so we can be together!" It was nothing near a shout, but the hissing note contained in Skyfire's voice that Starscream would be in a lot of discomfort – not physically, if he knew Skyfire as he did, but discomfort nevertheless – if this topic persisted.

"Fine. I believe you. Still...I'm not exactly complaining with the result." There, that should get him out from landing in dangerous waters. True enough, Skyfire's faceplates softened noticeably, apparently relieved to be steered away from the sensitive thought of sending the young Autobot away just so that the brig would only be for Skyfire and Starscream.

"How are you feeling this orn?" Skyfire asked; the venom had disappeared from his vocalization and the wings had been lowered down to their normal positions.

"Must you ask that?" Starscream retorted; the shuttle's optic ridge arched at that and the Seeker spared himself an annoyed sigh through his vents. "You know well how easily depressed flyers can be when stripped of their wings. That, and I'm in my own personal smelting pit surrounded by Autobots. Get the ideas?"

"Ah, your wings," the shuttle intoned in such a manner that reminded Starscream too much of circumstances involving a forgetful Skywarp actually forgetting to mention that an angry Megatron was waiting for him at the end of the hallway; he just hoped that with Skyfire, the case would not be as bad. "You see, that is partly why I come today."

His interest rocketing sky-high, Starscream abandoned his attempt to sit elegantly and straightened his posture. His red optics searched the blue pair before him for hints of what news to be told – All that he could glimpse from the shuttle's body languages, though, was mild amusement at his apparent impatience. Starscream was irritated that he unwittingly became the shuttle's source of humour; First of all because it was nothing to laugh at. Second, because he was not used to be the laughing stock, except for his trinemembers. Any other Decepticon, in the obvious exception of Megatron of course, would have found themselves under the threats of his twin null-rays if they ever so much giggled at him or his actions. However, before him was no Decepticon; it was Skyfire, an old friend who seemed to be a reasonable potential for more than just camaraderie-based relationship, and the Seeker had no intention whatsoever to hurt this gentle-Sparked mech. Thus, he contented himself with an angry snort before inquisitiveness overwhelmed his processors from all other matters save for one thing.

"Why? What about my wings?" A sudden dread suddenly engulfed his CPU, conjuring gruesome mental images in its wake. "Wait...don't you tell me that you Autobots have melted them!"

"We're not Decepticons, Starscream," Skyfire pointed out gently in a tone that one would usually associate when explaining to a Sparkling why it was wrong to throw a barrel of oil in their friends' faceplates, "though you are PARTLY right about it; your original wings were unsalvageable by the time we brought you here –"

" – WHAT? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!" Starscream's vocalizer spat out an almost un-mechly shriek, an undignified yet reflexive response to the shocking information that somehow was delivered with Spark-aching calmness by Skyfire.

" – but I am in process of constructing you a pair of new ones," the shuttle finished, seemingly unperturbed by the slight pause when Starscream had rudely though understandably interrupted his explanation.

Starscream was placated, but was still doubtful with his audio's functionality. "New wings, you say?"

"Yes, new. And I'm trying my hardest to get them look just like the old ones, right down to the smallest detail. Which is why I need your advice in this since apparently, you have made some major modifications since we last met."

Starscream hardly heard the last sentence that was spoken to him – his audio was latched more importantly on the fact that Skyfire took such great care for him and went so far as to build him a new set of wings. He knew that the Autobot had been in stasis lock for most of his activation cycle, but it astounded Starscream nevertheless that Skyfire changed so very little in his demeanour, his kindness coming first before all else.

"So, are you going to help me or not?"

The Decepticon made a show of pondering hard – his optics dimmed and he had a digit tapping upon the berth's surface in unnecessary exaggeration, his faceplates screwing as if he was being forced to make a life-and-death decision in just a klik before the planet exploded. Then, in a flurry of movements that obviously had the larger mech confused, Starscream's servo flew up to the top of the other's chest-piece and hooked his digits into the crevices there, pulling Skyfire's torso down so as to make their faceplates level with each other. Whatever the shuttle had in mind was surely different from whatever Starscream had in his own mind for he gasped in shock when the Seeker gave a quick peck on his cheek-plates, his lip-components shaping themselves to seal around the sharp ridge there before releasing the still-dazzled mech from his hold.

"Of course I'll be in it, you slag-heap!" Starscream could not stop the playful giggles from escaping his vocalizer; with Skyfire, the degree of freedom Starscream was allowed with his vocalization increased, knowing that his friend would never mock his high-pitched voice, a trait that was all too prominent when the Decepticon expressed his joy. It was one of the reasons why Starscream settled more to verbal praises of himself rather than laugh when he achieved success – just to avoid himself being the core of others' wicked amusement.

Skyfire's faceplates lighted up with delight at the agreement – and perhaps also from the brief contacts with Starscream's lip-components on his cheek-plates. Either way, the radiant smile that the shuttle gave worth Starscream's captivity any given orn; it was so sweet and pleasant to be looked upon. Starscream wished that he had the same impact on the Autobot flyer when he did the same, though Skywarp had discouragingly informed him once that his smile made him looked like an over-energized vornling having his first taste of high grades.

"I'm glad – but first thing first." So saying, Skyfire brought forth the energon cube that he had been holding all this while to offer it to Starscream. The Seeker eyed at the glowing object hungrily but made no move to retrieve it.

"What?" The Autobot scientist inquired, sounding almost worried at the lack of response. "I assure you, it's clean. No –"

Starscream reached up and placed a single digit across Skyfire's lip-components, halting him mid-sentence. The mischievous smile that had always decorated his mouth whenever he had in mind something not-quite-innocent for his fellow Decepticons returned, though this time it seemed of less devilish nature.

"Are you sure you want to JUST give me the energon?" Starscream's voice was breathy with restrained excitement – a change that both unsettled and yet interested the shuttle, if the nervous flicks of his wings could be trusted.

"O-of course... why won't I...?" Again, he was stopped before the sentence was finished, this time by the action of Starscream bringing his mouth components just beside the circular covering of his audio.

"Are you not interested, even a LITTLE, in payments?" Starscream dropped the glow level of his optics a notch; perhaps subconsciously, Skyfire's own too followed his lead. A digit traced the ridge on the shuttle's faceplates with taunting slowness, applying just enough pressure for him to feel the touch.

"It...I don't expect my favours to be returned."

Starscream let out a snort that sounded so originally human-like that one might have troubles identifying the source by the sound of it alone – and playfully pinched at the shuttle's nasal ridge. "Of course you don't. But I _insist_."

This time, Starscream did not pull the larger mech towards him; instead, he himself slipped upon one large thigh, precariously balancing his aft on the makeshift perch before stretching himself to the maximum extension that his hydraulics could achieved, both servos cupping the cheeks of his larger companion while he teasingly rubbed at the white lip-components with his own.

"S-starscream...I don't t-think this is a good idea..." Skyfire managed albeit the obvious stuttering that came out with his reply.

Starscream restrained himself from pouting; the shuttle had come today with clearer processors this morning, apparently, which would explained perfectly the hesitance to accept his offer of intimacy in the name of chivalry. Snorting again, the Seeker whispered:

"Why not? You have no trouble doing it before..."

Skyfire was torn between his logics and his reckless desire to just scoop the beautiful Seeker into his arms and commenced with the kissing; he definitely wanted to fulfil Starscream's wish for he was just as hungry for it as the former did, but with his logic circuits free from the euphoric trance in discovering Starscream's opened servos for his company like yesterday, caution took priority in this situation. Internal warnings beeped, insisting that the risk of being caught red-handed in the act with this Decepticon was high, doubly so with Prowl occupying the Command Deck; unlike Red Alert who had a habit of paying extra attention to the video feedbacks depicting the scenery outside of the Ark, Prowl's focus was evenly divided between the screens, the police-patroller not having shared the Security Director's opinion that the greater dangers were out there instead of within the Ark.

"Someone might spotted us," Skyfire finished, taking strength from the thought that Prowl might be watching even now though he made no move to displace the Decepticon from his thigh.

Starscream would have none of it; with equal parts of Seeker-inherent grace and Decepticon-conditioned aggressiveness, he grabbed for the circular panel on either side of Skyfire's helm and pulled him down. Skyfire's gasp of surprise was incomplete, it being instantaneously swallowed by the smaller flyer's mouth which ravaged the victim's lips with balanced hunger and tenderness. The shuttle's attempt to push the other off grew feeble until he too succumbed to the desire growing in his processors, nourished all the more by the Seeker's consuming kiss and returned it with equal passion. He still remembered the energon cube still held in his shaking servo and put it down, but the instant his digits were freed they sought purchase on the smaller chassis fiercely clinging to his own and pulled Starscream closer until their cockpits scratched each other with unpleasant _scree_; yet the frictions they generated were intoxicating, drawing out muffled moans from their vocalizers.

Even though pumped up with hot lust, Skyfire did not forget to restrain himself from giving himself fully to his wants; Starscream was smaller than he was, and although the Seeker was in no way a weak Transformer, his strength was proportionate to his size as did Skyfire's was balanced with his hugeness. Gentle servos were careful to grasp only strong enough to keep the Decepticon flyer in place while his lip-components offered just enough resistance to keep Starscream drugged in the pleasure of it all. Starscream was astounded further still by the shuttle's ability to keep himself in check even in the moments where controls for most mechs would be meaningless – with all the care Skyfire was taking, the Seeker suspected that the large mech could resist his advance _if _he wanted it – that Starscream had managed to lure the shuttle into this kiss contributed largely to the fact that Skyfire did not have the Spark to turn down his friend's demand or disappoint his own urge. It made Starscream all the more grateful that Skyfire did not decide to just leave his engines revving for this sorely-craved touches out of his initial fear of being spied upon.

After kliks of ravenous lip-consuming, Skyfire made it clear that he wanted it to end by the way he no longer responded to Starscream's nibbling on his lower lip-components. Reluctantly, Starscream pulled away even though his overheating systems screamed for prolonged performance from the shuttle. The whirs of spinning cooling fans filled the brig area, humming alongside the sounds of them panting through their oral passages for extra measures in lowering their core temperatures. Their lips might have parted, but the grip Skyfire had on the smaller chassis's waist had not loosen, keeping Starscream firmly perched on his thigh without any risk of tumbling backwards.

"Is this going to be a routine, Starscream?" Skyfire's voice was huskier than he would have normally sounded and his optics twinkled with gleam unseen of for many stellar cycles. Starscream revelled in his ability to pull out such rare reactions from the conservationist mech with a prideful grin.

"Do you like it?" Starscream purred and was surprised to find his voice just as husky as his partner did. Trailing a digit along the length of the shuttle's arm-column, he snuggled closer into the huge chest-piece before him, all facades of invulnerability shed in the presence of his dearest Skyfire.

Skyfire squirmed uneasily, though from the way he draped an arm across the Seeker's back pointed that the reaction was not sourced from being in contact with Starscream. "...It is pleasing, but I am worried that other Autobots will find out about this."

Starscream let loose a careless giggle and stroked the cheek plating with a blue servo. "Then we have just to be careful about it. And be quiet."

The big mech eyed him with something that shouted _it's easy for you to say_ but decided at the last astrosecond that the reply was unnecessary; instead, a servo groped blindly at his side and managed to get a hold on the previously abandoned cube of energon.

"Here. It's time to refuel now," said the shuttle while offering the pink-glowing cube towards Starscream; his optics wore a glow that spoke of resoluteness. There would be no deviating from his original purpose this time.

Not that Starscream would give up his teasing just yet. Skyfire gave an optic ridge a rise, an unspoken sign of disapproval at the way the Seeker slowly extended his glossa out to lap at the first few drops of the not-quite-liquid substance before sipping it oh-so-slowly in a doubtless fashion of seduction. It took a while for the cube to be emptied, a while far too long for Skyfire as he fought the urge to taste the energon that Starscream was consuming _straight_ from the Seeker's own mouth. Fortunately, his determination held fast against the obvious conscience of _just do it _running rampant in his processors.

"You never change, do you Starscream? Always the rebellious one..." the Autobot sighed as he took from the jet-former the energon-empty container and put it down, a long arm reaching right to the floor to put it there without Skyfire needing to bend his upper chassis too much to achieve the feat.

A smirk became the prologue for Starscream's reply. "Not much. Besides, you love me like this, don't you?"

Another gush of warm air was expelled through the shuttle-former's pectoral vents but a somewhat playful smile had come to rest on his lip-components. "Perhaps...but keep this attitude up and you are going to make more enemies than you do friends. Anyway..." One of his servos reached into a subspace pocket and retrieved what looked like a metal rod, barely longer or thicker than Starscream's single digit. The wingless flyer knew at once what it was, having frequently used it himself when writing reports to his leader – a compact data-pad, not so much capacity as the conventional ones but usefully portable. Interested in what contents it might hold within the memory chips, he watched as his companion expertly twiddled the rod between his large digits to switch on the on/off button. It split in half at the middle, the two sides instantly separating while unrolling a virtual screen between them which glowed a beautiful shade of blue in the relative darkness of the cell. Familiar shapes were displayed upon it, shapes of which Starscream recognized instantly even if he had taken a look at them with one optic offline.

"My wings!"

Skyfire nodded while tilting the data-pad slightly so the Seeker had a better angle in viewing it. "These are my blueprints of them. I have no problem with the designs or the placing of the sensors, but your modified wiring poses some problems to me." The shuttle touched the tip of his index digit to a corner of the screen and the view rippled as the next page was activated. This time, it was a schematic of the appendage's circuitries, though an incomplete one at that. "You see; here, here and here are left blank because I absolutely have no idea how you arrange the sensor nodes and still manage proper connections between them."

Starscream's optics followed the jabbing motion the digit made and drank in the information relayed. He patiently listened to the details as Skyfire spoke them, integrating the data into his memory banks to analyze the faults in the shuttle's mapping of the delicate circuitries. Once his friend had finished with it, Starscream merely chuckled.

"I can't blame you for not knowing; with you being trapped in ice and all that, there's no way you could have keep tab with the Decepticon technologies. Anyway...it's a concept design by me, still experimental mind you, so that's why you or Hatchet –"

"It's Ratchet, Starscream."

"– fine, Ratchet, whatever – haven't yet met similar designs," he finished, only slightly perturbed by the minor correction. "Though I have to admit...you've done an impressive guessing with it even without any reference to help you."

Skyfire accepted the compliments with a barely-there smile and a dip of his helm, hardly flattered. "It is not easy, and it takes orns to figure it out."

The Decepticon let a wide smile appeared on his faceplates, one that had nothing to do with evil humour or sadistic delight that were usually related to this particular expression; no, his pleasure this moment was innocent and harmless, derived from the gladness of having Skyfire's concern in his well-being...and from the fact that sooner or later, he would have back his much-treasured wings. Taking the data-pad from Skyfire's servo, Starscream slid down from his friend's thigh and dimmed an optic in the Transformer's equivalent of winking.

"And with me helping you, it will take A LOT shorter," he said, and beckoned for the shuttle to observe where his digit was pointing at. Skyfire obliged, bending down slightly to do as he was bid, optics dutifully following the imaginary lines Starscream's digit had traced in its wake. The scene that resulted reminded Starscream too much of the time when he was still a tetra-jet-former and Skyfire's activation cycle were yet to be consumed by his imprisonment in the ice; the time when they knew no Decepticons nor Autobots, and the War was something too distant for them to care.

They had worked together back then just like they did now – it was a long lost era, but one that Starscream had hoped to repeat again now that he and Skyfire were reunited with each other.

_**XxXx**_

Ratchet was not fond of using brute force on his fellow Autobtos, really, but when his patients made the call where medical fields were concerned, his vocalizers were re-set automatically so that his voice came out more thunderous than it normally were and his whole systems became geared up for some _mano-e-mano _if needed be. For instance, when Smokescreen had decided to just flee from the med-bay when the CMO had insisted for him NOT to do just that, the Datsun's designation could be heard in several hallways when his disappearance was noted; or the time when Ironhide had insisted that his self-repair systems could handle his glitched transformation cog, Ratchet had pointedly ignored the heavy arsenals the rogue warrior was equipped with and dragged the red mech into his med-bay despite said mech's protest at being treated so indignantly before the younger Autobots.

Another example could be observed right now; this time around involved an obviously glitched Red Alert taking his own initiative to head for the Command Deck, driven by his worry that Prowl might miss security details here and there without the Lamborghini to point them out. Horns sparking and voice strangely high-pitched, the not-too-well Security Director made his own way among a group of Autobots while muttering incessantly how the Ark was going to be in peril, with the onlookers expecting any nanoklik now for the appearance of an enraged CMO.

Sure enough, barely two astroseconds later, a booming call of "RED ALERT, COME HERE AT ONCE OR I'M GOING TO FIX YOUR SPOILER TO YOUR GLITCHY HEAD!" echoed through the corridors of the Ark, causing several mechs to jump out of fright-shock and the rest to clasp their palms over their audio receptors. Red Alert reacted as if being hit by a thousand volts of electric shock before his CPU processed that there was a complete lack of electric source in contact with his chassis.

"Sizzling Cybertron!" Red managed to exclaim upon realizing the fates that was about to befall him before the time was up; Ratchet appeared at the far end of the main corridor, positively fuming, a digit pointing straight at the Lamborghini in dire malediction.

Nervous murmurs rose among the spectators, with a happen-to-be-there Jazz unashamedly shouted over the tumults, "Aw, man! Red, buddy, y're in big trouble now!" That pretty much summed up the whole situation – and even with his processors buzzing with electro-glitch, the Security Director realized the validity of Jazz's claim.

Red Alert abandoned his earlier plan of sneaking out on pede and transformed instead; a sleek shape of a sports car emerged from the tangles of folding limbs, powerful Lamborghini engine purring alongside the usual creaks of transformation, propelling the vehicle forward as soon as the wheels touched the floor in a sudden burst of speed that the car manufacturer of which this form was derived from was so famous for. It was a good thing that the Ark was built with spaciousness in mind or several unlucky Autobots would be in serious threat of being run over.

Behind, Ratchet's intakes vented out a sigh upon witnessing the proceedings; he really needed to catch that runaway Lamborghini and rebooted his processors if a normally cautious Red Alert had acted so recklessly to the extent of transforming and speeding in the hallway. Ratchet, refusing to transform to his ambulance form, was soon left far behind. However, the medic was not worried since he knew where the Security Director was heading to; his only concern was that Red Alert would succumb to his malfunctioning systems and fell offline somewhere unknown. Now that would truly be a nightmare for both of them – Ratchet because he could not stand anyone not being in tip-top condition when he was in charge; Red Alert because the moment he was found and his systems rebooted, Ratchet was going to torture his audios for creating such a mess.

No one was brave or foolish enough to hinder the passing of the pursuer or his victim; however, Jazz did possess the sense to follow them, just in case it would go out of control, seeing that Ratchet and Red Alert had the same level of stubbornness. Shouting "See ya' guys later!" to anyone within audio range, the Special Ops agent jogged off after the retreating back of the CMO. Jazz's coming was welcomed since the Porsche-former had incredible ways with words and Ratchet did not want to use raw strength to bring the Security Director to the med-bay unless ABSOLUTELY necessary.

The Porsche and the ambulance arrived at the Command Deck together to find the Lamborghini, already in his root-mode, talking to a rather confused Prowl about something which apparently involved setting up the force-field shield immediately in case there were Decepticons abound and activated the perimeter's ion cannons.

"You don't understand!" Red was saying, a servo waving uselessly in the air above his helm as if to emphasize just how bad the situation was, "if Bumblebee's reports are true and that he had clashed with –"

"Now, Red Alert, please calm down," Prowl raised a servo to silence the agitated Lambo-former. "I understand your concern perfectly, but such measures are unnecessary unless enemy presences are confirmed. So far, we have no solid evidence that an all-out assault is directed upon us."

Red Alert's suggestion was absurd in their current circumstances; force fields were so rarely applied since it drained a lot of energy, more than the ship's particle-generator could provide, and as such were used as a last resort should the Decepticons had successfully breached all other defences. However, the sight of Red Alert's sparking horns robbed Ratchet of the primal urge to face-palm and discovered that pity and understanding had taken the seat where annoyance and anger were supposed to be. In one way or another, he and Red Alert were not very different to each other – both were seriously dedicated in their tasks, even if their fields of expertise were not the same.

Red Alert's mouth was half-opened in what could be retort to Prowl's counter-argument when suddenly the Lamborghini's helm horns crackled even more madly with electric sparks. The other three Transformers had only enough time to register that his electro-glitch mode had hit full force before the Security Director's knee-joints buckled as if they were no longer strong enough to support the slight frame – luckily, Jazz was among the them and his split-astrosecond response allow him to lunge forward just in time to catch the collapsing form of the Lamborghini-former before it hit the floor.

"Quick, get him to the chair," Ratchet issued, full-medic, no-funny-stuff-just-seriousness mode getting over his CPU quickly at the emergency.

Red Alert groaned all the while Jazz did as was told by the CMO with Prowl retrieving the nearest chair to support the limp form of the Lamborghini who was clearly having what could amount to be the mechanical version of migraine. It took some time to get it done due to the Security Director's ceaseless struggling, but it was all that it took for Ratchet's world to shatter.

The medic was not really looking at the numerous wall-mounted screens – he was more focused on his glitched charge, truth to be told – but a certain scene displayed on one of the monitors accidentally caught his attention when he happened to be looking in its direction. Although physically Ratchet was looking as fine as he could be, the sight caused his energon blood to freeze in its tubing, his Spark constricting with grief he had not felt for so long that he had almost forgotten the incredible pain it brought. It was a display from one of the many security cameras placed in and around the Ark and this particular one was installed in the brig; right now, it was showing a recording of Starscream, comfortably seated on the wide expanse of Skyfire's thigh, helm reaching up to meet the shuttle's own in what was unmistakably a _kiss._

Neither Prowl nor Jazz was looking at the same direction as Racthet did, busy as they were to align Red Alert's chassis so that he was comfortably snuggled in the chair that they had chosen, so they were not aware of Ratchet's optics being glued to the screen behind them. For all they knew, the Chief Medical Officer was likely immersed in processing the best way to help the Lamborghini, a fact of which Ratchet was grateful of. He was more willing to repair Omega Supreme all alone rather than having his hurt revealed to these two Autobots, friends though they were. No, his pain would be his alone, especially if it originated from his most deeply-buried secret.

_I have guessed this all along...but it's still too much to bear,_ the medic reflected sadly. But then, why should it surprise him when he had realized of this for some time now? Skyfire's affection to the Decepticon Seeker had always been obvious to him...and he knew, how bitter the truth was, that a simple medic stood as much chance in flinging Cybertron out of its orbit as he was to compete against the likes of Starscream for the shuttle-former's attention. After all, wasn't Skyfire a flyer who owned the firmament and all the glory it offered? Ratchet was nothing more than a simple medic, a ground-crawler, a grumpy old mech, a negligible existence in Skyfire's activation cycle, where else the shuttle was simply _everything _to him. However, as far as nature dictated it, there was just no way for someone as mundane as Ratchet would be noticed by someone as _beautiful_, as _glorious_ as Skyfire.

"Ratchet, what do we do with him?" Prowl's question diverted the medic's attention from the screen effectively, suddenly realizing that he still had a real problem to solve right here.

Shaking himself out of his private anguish, Ratchet responded with all the professionalism that he could muster with his current condition, "Let's get him to the med-bay. I cannot do much for him here."

In a display of pure strength that his friends rarely had the chance to see, Prowl lifted the Security Director bridal-style _all alone_ and exited the Command Deck, doubtless making his way straight to the medical bay as per Ratchet's instruction. Jazz followed soon after, in case that his Datsun friend suddenly needed an extra servo to help him in this little quest. Ratchet was the last to go, sparing a nanoklik's glance at the offending view; the two flyers were still locked in the position as he had remembered them and a further pang struck his Spark, wishing for the intimacy to be his and yet knowing that this simple want of his would never come to reality.

"Ratch? Ratchet?" Jazz's call sounded from the hallway, noticing that the CMO was not with them.

Startled from his reverie, Ratchet willed his optics to leave the screen and the painful recording it displayed and left, his Spark-ache forcibly ignored and his emotions restrained from showing even in the slightest. His vents cycled a calming intake of cool air, Ratchet squared his shoulder-plates and opened strides to join the two Autobots outside.

"I'm coming, Jazz."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Early update (slightly) so please enjoy :)!

The faction of Decepticon favoured both versatility and speciality; in the case of Soundwave, he was a bit of both which was a rarity, being extremely well-versed in the art of meta-filtration, that was to say, mind-reading – but he was also an ace as a strategist, an effective tactician, a ruthless assassin and, when the Decepticons were free from military missions, a sort of Megatron's unofficial personal assistant. Right now though, he was none of that – under his leader's direct order, Soundwave was thrust with the task to spy on the Autobots' activities, gathering useful intelligence that could later be manipulated into their own ends; specifically, to rescue Starscream from his imprisonment. The Command Centre in which he currently occupied was devoid of other mechs if one excluded the dormant Casetticons in his chest-cavity, and the silence that enveloped the place felt as solid as the Cybertanium wall that surrounded it, but not for long.

A hiss of the opening door marked the end of his solitude; the energy signature and the mentality reaching out from the entrance told the cassette-player of the newcomer's identity without the need for visual confirmation. Even without Soundwave's telepathy, any ordinary Transformer could deduct the light-sounding pede-steps came from minibot-sized mechs of whom there were only two in the Nemesis, excluding the Reflector components.

"Hey boss," the slightly squeaky voice of Frenzy greeted the Communication Expert, sounding far too cheerful that either suggested over-energizing or successful practical jokes. The thoughts that Soundwave perceived were coherent and neither was the voice slurred, as was characteristic of the Casetticon whenever high-grades came into the plot. The navy-and-white bot had no clue as who was unfortunate enough to fall prey to Frenzy's (and very probably Rumble's too) twisted idea of amusement since related thoughts of his victim had not crossed the smaller bot's CPU – and neither did he care about it, irrelevant as it was to his situation.

The crimson Casetticon continued his approach until he stood beside his master before prodding his thigh with a digit, almost timidly.

"Boss? Here it is," Frenzy squeaked, lifting the purplish object he had been holding above his helm as high as his runty height permitted. Soundwave did not avert his visored optics even once from the monitor installed in the control panel before him; a servo reached down to retrieve the offered object, which was in actuality a medium-sized energon cube.

With the threats of Megatron's rage loomed ominously over him, Soundwave had taken in spying the going-ons within the Ark very seriously; he dared not leave the Command Centre for extended periods of time, entering recharge cycle as infrequently as he could and for the shortest span of time that he could bear in a session; to date, the Communication Expert had computed that the time he spent away from this place was less than three joors – and that was over the span of two days. Nourishment was brought by either Frenzy or Rumble at regular intervals so that Soundwave could still stay energized without needing to refuel in the mess hall. His almost unceasing surveillance paid off for it revealed to the Decepticon a rather...peculiar situation, to say the least. And one that he was not sure whether it was worth delivering to Megatron – not because of its lack of importance, but rather because of the impacts it might leave on the leader's already unstable mentality. After all, a solid evidence of intimacy between Starscream and Skyfire would in no way help Soundwave to avoid getting full-body 'customization', Megatron-style.

At his side, Frenzy had already hopped into the seat before the main screen which was also the largest to be found in the Nemesis. Coincidentally, it was his turn for monitor duty this time and with the residual mirth from his latest pranks still lingering in his CPU, the cassette-'bot looked far too cheerful for someone who was about to undergo a solid two to three joors of absolute boringness. With his arms crossed behind his helm his pede propped high on the main console, Frenzy leaned back into his seat and quietly hummed to himself, a tune which to Soundwave sounded disturbingly like Earthen music – had becoming a cassette-deck finally took its toll on his Casetticons? While he had no aversion to any particular music, the idea of a Cybertronian discovered a liking for human-made songs this quickly was rather unsettling, not less because they were created by such...peculiar life-forms.

Shaking this useless concern from his processors, he lifted the energon-filled cube to his chin level; his face-mask split along the centre ridge, each half retracting in the opposite direction into the slots at either side of his helm to partly expose a face that only a lucky few had ever seen. While in public Soundwave would never be so open even to the fellow Decepticons, with his symbiotes the restrictions were gratefully lifted though he have his Casetticons promised to never reveal this aspect of his to other mechs, warning them that he would know if any of them broke the oath of secrecy. Without the mask, Soundwave appeared a few hundred vorns younger than his true age, looking even more youthful than Skywarp or even Starscream and his expressions were naked for others to interpret. Since he had taken to wearing it, the Deputy SIC never vocalized a word for his tone was uncharacteristically expressive without the Vocal Modulator his face-mask was equipped with. For these reasons, which were absolute taboos when gifted with the ability of telepathy, Soundwave developed a habit to refuel as quickly as he could when he consumed his energon through his mouth, fearing that his visage would be accidentally seen by passers-by. He DID have another method in consumption – using a special proboscis that was conjoined directly to his main fuel line, of which the end was hollow and acted some sort of straw when dunked in energon – but while it was as effective as through oral intake, it did not give him the satisfaction of refuelling.

His cube was emptied in less than a klik, and despite the speed in which the energon was taken, he had no problem whatsoever with clogged fuel line. Frenzy seemed completely uninterested in the revealing of Soundwave's faceplates and was already halfway into recharge mode when something caused him to wake up with a jolt.

Actually, there were three things happening altogether at once that had disturbed Frenzy's peaceful moments; first, the alarm that denoted a specific attempt at communication from Cybertron went off, drawing out a gasped "What the slag...?" from the Casetticon's vocalizer; the second was that the main entrance opened with a sharp _sweesh_, prompting a reflexive reaction in Soundwave's part to shield his expression again behind the impenetrable face-mask; and finally, to finish all the 'tah-dah' factors that nearly had Frenzy jumping in his seat, was the appearance of the Supreme Commander of the Decepticon. The last successfully drew a gasped "Oh frag what did I do wrong this time...?"

Apparently, if Megatron's reaction could be taken into prediction, nothing; Soundwave's telepathy agreed with his physical observation. The gun-former's mentality was ridden with strains and pressure, but nothing indicated that it came specifically from the cassette-former, appearing only mildly bewildered at Frenzy's overreactions. Megatron spared a nanoklik's glance in Soundwave's direction to grant the Communication Expert an acknowledging nod – and a somewhat approving look at the way he worked hard in gaining intelligence of the Autobot's situation – before shifting back his attention to the obviously panicked cassette-former. An optic ridge was raised that non-verbally demanded _have you fried your logic circuits?_ at Frenzy, though his vocalization circuits cancelled the sentence in honour for a more practical demand when he noticed the _beep-beep-beep _resonating insistently in the Command Centre:

"How long are you planning to make Shockwave wait for connection?"

Frenzy practically fumbled for the magic button; it was as if he lost all memories concerning the functions of the many keys before him, despite being forced to undergo the long joors of monitor duty countless of times before. Under Megatron's penetrative glare, the time it took for him to press the correct button tripled; once it was done, the previous menu depicting the contact details vanished in flickers of statics before a purple mech came into view.

"Hail Lord Megatron, ruler of Cybertron."

The tyrant appeared slightly mollified at the honest flattery, deleting all traces of annoyance that he had previously showed which in return granted Frenzy's a single cycle of relieved exhalation. Shockwave's reputation in Megatron's optics appeared to come with an additional 'charm' that kept Megatron's emotional time-bomb from exploding, an advantage that right now benefitted the Cassetticon.

"Continue," the tyrant said simply; he stood with a relaxed stance, pedes set slightly apart and digits interlocked together behind him. By this, Frenzy knew that the Decepticon leader had forgotten, or choose to ignore his presence. As far as Megatron's attention was concerned, Frenzy might as well consist of invisible matter when Shockwave had his report to deliver to his Supreme Commander.

"According to the latest development on the repair of the Space Bridge, I have estimated that the Generator will be fully functional in another three orns. However, due to the energy demands involved in the process, the energon cubes supply will only be enough to power a halfway Bridge from Cybertron."

"Soundwave has told me before of the possibility of such things happening," Megatron replied, his bored voice contradicting the almost-scowl that crossed his features in a mere span of astroseconds before his mask of indifference returned on his faceplates. "But I happen to have an effective solution to this crisis. How many more cubes do you require to complete a Cybertron-Earth Space Bridge?"

"Thirty-five cubes for an opening less than half a klik," Shockwave replied.

"And how many war prisoners do you have on Cybertron?"

"Exactly two hundreds, but as much as a hundred and seventy-six individuals are tasked with the labours of fortress reconstruction or Space Bridge repairing. The rest are too under-energized for any use and are currently left imprisoned in the brigs." He did not have a countenance on which his expression could be projected but Shockwave's tone was one of puzzlement, which was rather strange coming out of this particular mech.

"Hmmph...that leaves only twenty-four disposable producers..." Megatron muttered, quickly lost in calculations and simulations of the plan that he had constructed in his CPU.

"Lord Megatron, if I might be so bold to ask – "

The Decepticon overlord cut him off with a careless waive of his servo, a cold, cruel grin spreading on his lip-components. "– about what to do with these prisoners? Think out of the box, Shockwave. Those useless scums will serve our cause better if deactivated than leaving them to rust in the brigs."

Soundwave did not shudder, but his inner self almost quailed at the focused, cruel thought that came from the silver mech's meta-processors. It contradicted most ironically with the concern for Starscream's situation bubbling just underneath this layer of sado-masochism; it reminded the cassette-player just why Megatron was deemed the cruellest Transformer to have ever walked on Cybertron. Soundwave might appear unaffected, but even he was unsettled at the consequences of such actions, and being a telepath did not at all make matters better. Nothing was as horrifying as experiencing first-hand the sensation of Sparks being extinguished and yet continued to live after such agonizing tortures. Such concerns were non-existent for Megatron, who was no telepath and was nothing like the sympathetic Autobots.

Shockwave too seemed to have grasped the idea lurking behind the inquiries – and looking shocked once understanding dawned upon him. He was no prisoner-sympathizer, least of all to Autobots who accounted for almost ninety-eight percent of the population of war prisoners held in Darkmount, but it did pose problem in some other aspect. "But Megatron, using brainwave energy for energon production is impractical on such deprived Transformers. At least three meta-processors are required to amass enough energy for a single energon cube; it will cost them their activations and Darkmount requires the slaves for restoration after the attacks. It will be more practical if I operate on the remaining cubes to open the incomplete Space Bridge and have Astrotrain deliver the cargo to the point of –"

" – I will NOT be sending Astrotrain or any other Decepticons away from Earth!" Megatron roared, fists balled and optics flashing with menace, causing Frenzy to flinch and lifting up his servos above his helm as if expecting blows from the enraged warlord. "I expect better from YOU, Shockwave! Drain the prisoners even if that permanently deactivates them! Take the slaves if you have to – just make sure that the next Space Bridge will be opened here ON EARTH!"

Shockwave was taken aback by the extreme reactions but dared not to argue further; far away from Megatron as he was, it was never a good thing to add oil to the flame, especially if the flame was already at the magnitude equivalent to an exploding volcano. "I will see to it as best as I can, my lord."

A notch placated, Megatron's vocalizer was reset to its default volume though his optics maintained the murderous glow. "You better be, Shockwave. Megatron out."

The warlord all but punched the button to severe the Cybertron-Nemesis communication line, still hissing with displeasure. In any normal circumstance, Shockwave's words would be listened and rightfully considered; however, this was not exactly what it would be called 'a typical orn in Nemesis', with his mind concentrated largely on Starscream and his anxiety to get the energon cubes delivered safely to Cybertron – his self-appointed responsibility to restore the planet to its glory was still a top priority, only now its importance was equal to saving Starscream from the Autobots. Torn between those two, the only way he could keep tabs on both was to remain on Earth, where the Seeker was and had the Space Bridge opened here, and not on some other alien planet. Soundwave understood this, having read the reasons straight from the warlord's mind, but Frenzy, who was as much telepath as Soundwave would ever be a Kaon-prowling slut, looked simply befuddled at Megatron's insistence.

"Resume monitoring," Megatron said to the red Casetticon without really looking; instead, his optics was on Soundwave. The communication officer felt a chill growing in his Spark when he was asked, "Have you found out anything yet?"

He did – about the increased security measures and patrol frequency around the Ark; about Starscream's loss of wings and he had been disarmed, but the former was of small enough concern and the latter was naturally expected ; that he was held in the brig whose location was known, guarded constantly by two guards during the day and monitored closely via the security cameras during the dark hours; that Starscream fraternizing with the enemy, and that the enemy was, of all Autobots, Skyfire; and worse, the shuttle also happened to be the lead engineer in the wings construction and the one charged with the duty to bring the Seeker his daily sustenance. Soundwave indulged all that he discovered to the silver mech except for the last two information. Other than it would likely fan the still-seething anger in his leader, it was also rather irrelevant in planning for Starscream's rescue.

Megatron listened and accepted the conveyed intelligence with a nod; it was not enough for any real planning, but it was a good enough start. "Excellent. Continue with the surveillance then, gather every bit of information that is available. In three orns, we WILL have the energon cubes safely delivered...and Starscream WILL be among us again."

Behind, Frenzy let out a surprised gasp which he hastily turned into a hacking cough, but the Decepticon Supreme Commander paid him not the slightest mind. His optics, now glittering with determined glow, were trained upon Soundwave, not once faltering in his gaze. "I will be expecting a report on your collected intelligence in two orns – and after that, we will have to come up with double battle-plans on our two scenarios during the pre-battle meeting. You have any objection on that?"

Of course, Soundwave recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one; with Megatron, whatever question that came out from his vocalizer would have to be answered with only reply as he expected. "No, my lord."

The silver gun-former was pleased by Soundwave's obedience and left the Command Centre with less depressed thoughts, having transferred part of the burden for Soundwave to manage. Frenzy caught the immense scope of expectation Megatron had on his master and voiced out exactly what Soundwave had in his CPU:

"Two orns? To do all that stuffs? He gotta be kiddin', right?"

Soundwave did not answer, again recognizing the rhetorical quality in Frenzy's inquiries – but he had never hoped as fervently as he did now that Megatron did have possessed the humour to joke about such strenuous demands. A burden as large as this could have put any lesser Transformer into instant haywire – and it was probably a comparatively better fate than one that he was facing right now.

Shedding all depressing notions from his processors, Soundwave focused back to the reconnaissance task at hand; this ruckus had better ended in three orns as Megatron had estimated. Longer than that, he could not be sure that even his endurance could keep up with such strains – and he doubted it that Megatron could too, if the building lust-rage that he detected coming from the tyrant was anything to go by.

Ratchet had worked unceasingly on Red Alert ever since Prowl, with occasional help from Jazz, brought him to the med-bay. The Security Director was currently offline – Ratchet could have simply rebooted his processors to remedy that, but fearing his latest glitch had caused more damages than which was visible, the medic had taken the pains to examine his entire systems for unseen faults. So besotted he was in his element, the CMO had not realized the extent of joors he had spent in working on his latest patient, even forgetting to refuel himself – whatever happens, he had to make sure that Red was stabilized first before he could spare time for self-indulgences. From morning till evening, time passed without Ratchet noticing even an astrosecond of it missing – and he would have not noticed it well into the night had someone did not interrupt him in the middle of his works.

Ratchet had assumed that the door was opened because of Wheeljack – instead, the pede-steps that echoed in the med-bay were rather hollow-sounding where else the Autobot inventor's got rather solid pedes. That alone had not caused the CMO to falter in his progresses, any other smaller 'bot could have caused the light steps, but it was rather the call of "Ratchet?" that had him by surprise that caused his digits to tremble slightly, an effect that none other had on him except for –

"Skyfire?"

The name spilled out automatically when his processors identified the summoner and his Spark gave an unhelpful squirming when Ratchet turned around and had his guess confirmed. Filling the entire doorway of the medical bay was indeed Skyfire, his great height forcing him to stoop a little upon entering or risked banging his helm on the sill. Ratchet's optics followed the flyer's movement as if entranced until the shuttle caught him staring and inquired:

"Are you alright, Ratchet?"

The tone was neither anxious nor angry but that did not stop Ratchet from berating himself for allowing such childishness to show, especially when he still had a patient to resolve before him. He exhaled a calming cycle of air to steady his shattered nerve-clusters, he replied, "No, I'm fine. Just...Just tired, I think."

Only he knew how he hated being himself at that time when hearing the quaver in his voice. The medic could only pray that Skyfire's audios were not so sensitive so as to detect the flaw in his speaking fluency – or that he would associate it with his 'tired' state, if even that given reason was believable.

"I see," Skyfire answered simply; his optics came to rest on the person lying on the berth before Ratchet, half of his chassis obscured by the CMO's back. "And you're quite busy at the moment, I see that too. I think it's better for me to leave you alone for now –"

"No!"

Ratchet's whole chassis stiffened at the suddenness of his reaction, the word reflexively coming out of his vocalizer in response of his barest wish that he had buried deep beneath his stoicism and professionalism – and apparently, it was not deep enough. His vents furiously cycled air to cool his internals and stuttered, "I...I mean, you can stay. I'm almost finished."

Skyfire was puzzled at the uncharacteristic behaviour, at the very least. The rise of his optic ridge was subtle, but Ratchet had long learned that the shuttle's faceplates were not very expressive compared to other mechs he had encountered (Optimus Prime was clearly excluded, seeing that he had a battle-mask to keep his emotions unknown) – beyond that, who knew what thoughts and assumptions might be brewing in his (frightfully) analytical processors? Thankfully, he did not chose to venture further on this subject and proceeded to the waiting area, where he treated himself to sitting down on the couch there. He did not speak afterwards, and for that, Ratchet was immensely relieved while he returned his attention back to the prone form before him.

What kind of virus was invading him that prompted Ratchet to act so? None, as his internal scan told him and it was worrying; he had no other reason for him to blame upon except his secret attraction to the shuttle and he would rather chopped off his whole arm before admitting that to Skyfire. Embarrassment was one thing, but knowing that the shuttle had his interest on someone else was the definite blow to Ratchet. No, whatever the cost it took, his more-than-just-friend admiration had to be kept a secret – Well, Wheeljack knew about it already, but he was the only one...and the last to know. There would be no other, not even Skyfire himself.

Ratchet worked hard and fast, motivated by his determination to stay distracted from Skyfire's proximity. Unfortunately, it meant that his task finished sooner than he had expected with all the focus he had poured into it and before long, Red Alert's entire chassis had been checked, re-checked, and triple-checked; there were no more damages that must be fixed. The Chief Medic ignored the mythical feeling of having his back plating bored by Skyfire's optics while jumpstarting Red's vital systems, waiting patiently as electricity cracked along the Lambo's chassis, jerking the limbs into movements and shocking the dormant CPU into activation.

"Ugh...w-what happened?" Red Alert groaned as soon as his sensors registered online; his helm-horns sparked briefly as the charges dissipated to his surroundings. The optics took their time to reboot, the blue glow returning slowly to the covering glasses.

"Your glitch, that's what happened," Ratchet answered without looking at the other; his attention was fully on the telemetries displayed upon the monitor beside the berth, occasionally nodding as he interpreted the cryptic information on Red Alert's health. "I've told you before to wait for a few joors before your systems stabilize, but no, you have to tear away from my med-bay and headed for the Command Deck all alone. Thank goodness I have Prowl and Jazz to help me or else...I _could _have the evening all to myself, resting, but instead I have to spent joors checking and rebooting your systems!"

Red Alert gave a weak smile all the while he listened to Ratchet's rants and replied once he was finished, "Thank you, Ratchet. I appreciate it."

The Chief Medic harrumphed once, momentarily stumped by the word of gratitude - he rarely got verbal 'thanks' for his works. "Now do yourself a favour and rest. _Rest!_ Tomorrow, you should be fit enough for duty – and please avoid from blowing your processors all over again."

"I can go now?"

"Yes, but straight to your quarters. I'll have Omega Supreme spank you if you ever step a pede in the Command Deck today." Ratchet was detaching the various cables from Red Alert's medical ports and turning off the monitoring machine when he said these. In any other circumstances, mechs would run with their tail-pipes between their legs if they were threatened like this, but the smile in Ratchet's voice, tinged with worry though it was, erased the horrific images of the guardian mech's gigantic palm landing on his small aft. Still, it was unwise to disobey the medic's commandment, having gone against it once and paying dearly for it.

"To my quarters. Right. Straight away," Red Alert replied as he made to slid off the side of the berth. Ratchet helped him to stand, and when the Lambo-former assured that his pedes were sturdy enough for walking, the medic let him go completely, guiltily wishing that Red Alert would have asked for his escort back to his quarters – anything from being left alone with Skyfire in the med-bay.

The moment the med-bay's door slid close, he knew that the last hope to get away was gone along with Red Alert – and his Spark thumped with a combination of excitement and nervousness when he realized that his fear/wish had now came to reality.

"Are you sure that Red Alert is safe? I can go accompany him, if you want," Skyfire's voice floated to his audios from behind, causing his Spark to accelerate its pulse to twice its usual frequency – at least, it did felt like it.

Now that would have been a great idea if only it had been voiced earlier – his CPU had not came up with such solution in the turmoil of his emotions, and to ask the shuttle for it now would seem a bit rude – and besides, Ratchet could not bring himself to request it, knowing that to do so would mean having Skyfire to leave. His Spark and his logic circuits warred upon the control of his vocalizer and his motors, _yes, please _and _no, don't go_ battling for the right to be vocalized.

In the end, his desire won the orn as his glossa wound itself to say, "There's no need. It's a short trip to his chamber." Ratchet persuaded himself that it was the truth, even if the bulk of his reason came from wanting to be left in Skyfire's company with no one else to disturb this hard-earned peace.

"If you say so."

Ratchet could almost imagine the shuttle's shoulder-struts lifting in a shrug at these words. Pretending business by clearing the operation berth and the mobile table from the many medical tools he had used upon Red Alert before, the CMO mumbled, "Why do you come?"

"I was thinking to show you...but you seem exhausted enough already. Maybe I shouldn't ask of you just yet."

"No, _please_," the white-red-mech cursed himself for the accidental plea his vocalizer circuits chose to intone and tried again, "I'm fine. I can do it. Just tell me." _Whatever it is,_ Ratchet silently added.

The hollow pede-steps resonated again in the area as Skyfire pushed himself to his pedes and approached the medic from behind. Though Ratchet absolutely refused to look at Skyfire in the optics, not knowing where he exactly was and depending upon the sound of his coming turned out to be far worse for his Spark pulses, which increased even more to his mounting excitement.

"Since you insist..."

_Thump...Thump...Thump..._

_Oh Primus,_ Ratchet exhaled upon hearing the velvety voice entering his audios, feeding to his hunger as if energon would to an under-energized Transformer. The feel of something huge looming over him was exciting him to his very laser core – and suddenly, a shuttle-shaped shadow fell upon him before shifting to the side as Skyfire moved to stand at Ratchet's left, their chasses so very close together that the medic feared the shuttle feeling the heat from his excited Spark. It was impossible unless they touched physically, but the possibility of it seemed valid as passion further set his inside on fire.

_.Thump._

_Oh Primus, _Ratchet repeated; against his will, his helm turned to the side. Skyfire's huge chassis filled his entire view – they were so close, so very close, his helm was almost touching the side of Skyfire's hip-armour. He was glad that the movement of the other's servo served as a distraction from being overwhelmed by the sheer hugeness of the flyer. Ratchet had always the self-restraint from succumbing to the demands of his optics to roam across the shuttle's chassis and drinking its tantalizing details, but he found himself losing the battle against his desire this time. Ratchet knew that he was being woefully unprofessional, but he could not help himself. Not now, not when the image of Starscream's slight frame being tenderly cradled by Skyfire's arms were playing so vividly in his processors. How would it feel to be enveloped so by his powerful limbs, his faceplates so close to his own that their heats were practically pouring on each other? The feel of his lip-components –

_Thump-thump-thump..._

"_Primus._"

"Excuse me?"

Ratchet jerked as he realized that he was drowned too far in processor-drift to the extent that he had accidentally vocalized it out loud. Mentally shaking himself out of the residual imaginations swirling around in his CPU, he forced his optics to lift upwards, right into the blue depth of Skyfire's optics. The reassuring gaze that he offered was fake enough, but the smile he gave to the shuttle was even more so.

"Are you feeling okay?" Skyfire asked worriedly, one servo pausing in his sub-space pocket in honour of bestowing Ratchet his full attention.

"O-of course. Now, what is that you're going to show me?"His smile grew, getting wider, faker. Ratchet hated himself for it.

"Um, alright." Skyfire shrugged his concern off and retrieved his servo from the sub-space along with a rod of inactivated datapad held between his massive digits. The cylindrical limbs worked deftly to push the button to activate it; a blue screen popped in between the split metal rod, the halves of which were held gingerly by the white servos of the Autobot flyer. It was schematic images of a Seeker's wing, the few spaces which had been left blank the last time he had seen them were now completed with servo-sketched drawings which were obviously not Skyfire's. A wave of sadness came out of nowhere to engulf his systems in yet another depression, forced to relieve the moment of revelation that was better left unknown...

"I see you've done your job," Ratchet began unsteadily and hating his wavering voice even more than he thought was possible.

"With a little help – only Starscream knows the exact schematics," the shuttle agreed. Next, he was plunging into added details of the modified blueprints, pointing here and there for corrections and exact designs – and Ratchet found himself unable to focus on the single word he was saying. Again and again his processors drifted from the confines of his med-bay, back to the Starscream-occupied brig where his last shred of hope of ever gaining Skyfire's affection was destroyed by the gentle kiss he had imparted so freely to the Decepticon...

_Thumpthumpthump..._

"Ratchet."

Said medic shook himself out of the processor-drift upon the calling of his designation. His optics reflexively jumped upwards where the others' were located, and found a look of concern clouding within them.

"Yes, Skyfire?"

"You do not look very well," the shuttle observed; the datapad was now nowhere to be seen, presumably having been deactivated and stowed back in the sub-space pocket whence it came from.

"Uhh...yes, I think so." No point pretending that he was otherwise – the real reason would have to be kept unknown to the other, though. "I need to sit down."

"I'll help you," and he lifted one huge servo to do so, already sliding halfway to the medic's back when Ratchet flinched instinctively from the digits trying to reach his armours –

– and the tips of them happened to brush across Ratchet's ambulance-form front-mounted windshield, causing his Spark to lurch powerfully at the fiery trail it created on the sensitized glass. The unexpected sensation of pleasure wrenched an unwilling gasp from the CMO's vocalizer, one that caused his chassis to freeze in horror and a sudden withdrawal of the huge digits from his person. His unbecoming reaction was nightmare enough to Ratchet, but that Skyfire must have felt the incredible heat coming off from his Spark would be far, far more embarrassing – many factors could have contributed to heated, sensitized armours, but only a Sparkling could have not known that lust brewing in a mech's systems was one of those causes. His servo flew upwards to shield the heated part from Skyfire's view as if fearing that the heat would somehow visibly showed – and to prevent further contacts there.

"Skyfire ..." Ratchet croaked, too ashamed to say anything further and instead opted to see for himself the shuttle's reactions upon this. To his puzzlement, the shuttle's was neither of surprise nor anger – the blue optics gazing down at him were softly glowing with a look of concern.

"My apologies – It seems you are more exhausted than I thought."

It was true – pain or even discomfort at high enough intensity could have caused a sudden increase in a Transformer's core temperature, whether from increasing Spark-pulses or from overheating internals. Yes, Ratchet could still get away with this...

"N-no need to worry...I just need a little rest." Lies. All lies, but what choices did he have? He could only hope that Skyfire would not try 'helping' him again – Ratchet was uncertain to how he would react to the shuttle's touch, no matter how innocent its intention was.

Fortunately, his much-needed saving grace came into factor just at that critical moment – the med-bay's door opened once again to admit the entry of a certain Wheeljack who paused automatically upon setting his optics on the prominent figure of Skyfire before shifting to Ratchet whose servo was shielding over the portion of windshield exactly where his Spark chamber was housed underneath.

Fighting the quaver struggling to make itself heard, Ratchet called out to Wheeljack as casually as he could, "Yes, Wheeljack – What do you want?"

For a moment, the Lancia-former seemed intent on walking away before thankfully stepping into the area, head-fins flashing in what Ratchet had learned to be amusement. If only Ratchet had his favourite wrench in his servo right now, Wheeljack would have sported a nice dent at the side of his helm.

Meanwhile, Skyfire seemed to have come to the conclusion that his presence was no longer necessary for he turned to regard the medic with the same gentle concern he was showing ever since Ratchet had finished working on Red Alert and said, "Wheeljack's here. I take it that I can leave you to his care?"

"Yes, certainly. If anything, he can scold me if I try getting back to work."

Skyfire's chuckles were sudden and pleasant as always – again, his Spark seemed to somersault underneath Ratchet's chest plating, further warming the already heated armours.

"Indeed. I'll take my leave for now."

The desire to keep Skyfire with him resurfaced, stronger than ever, and Ratchet's vocalizer almost surrendered to the urge from his still-tingling Spark when Wheeljack, bless his understanding, cut him off the moment he opened his mouth to shout:

"Bye, Skyfire!"

Skyfire nodded, satisfied with the assurance he received and turned to leave the place. His huge form soon vanished behind the closing door of the med-bay, but not before he imparted to the medic an apologetic smile, perhaps still thinking that it was he who caused Ratchet's 'exhaustion'.

Wheeljack certainly did not believe that was the case and pretended scolding as soon as the sounds of Skyfire's leaving pede-steps faded completely from their audios, "What on Cybertron was that all about?"

Ratchet, whose core temperature had plummeted the instant Skyfire left the med-bay, managed a scowl of his own, realizing that the Autobot inventor knew – or at least, could have guessed – well enough what had transpired between Skyfire and himself. Wheeljack understood the sharp glare the CMO gave in his direction, one that could have sent even the naughty Lambo-twins scrambling away from the medic but that could only caused his long-time friend to shrug carelessly.

"Fine. I know, you and Skyfire and all that. But really, Ratch, how long are you going to keep it a secret?"

All traces of the irritable image Ratchet was so famous with were shed when he was shot with this million-energon-chip question. The medic now looked so exhausted that one would doubt whether this mech could have possibly the energy still to participate in the Great War. "I don't know, Wheeljack. I just don't."

Ratchet beckoned towards the couch where Skyfire had previously sat in waiting for him. Wheeljack made his way to it and took his seat beside his medic-friend. They were silent for a while, each immersed in their own swirling processors before Wheeljack's head-fins flashed once again as his next words came out from his hidden vocalizer:

"You can't stay silent about this forever, you know."

"I'm not sure about that, Wheeljack. With the war constantly raging around us...it seems like it's never going to happen. Either of us could get permanently deactivated every time we step beyond the Ark's security line..." Ratchet flinched inwardly at the mental image playing in his CPU the moment he finished saying these, of Skyfire's body, broken and damaged beyond repair, his Spark chamber empty of any living light. The CMO fought the fear rising in his systems and focused on his present where Wheeljack was figuring out a counter-argument for this.

"All the reason to tell him, then. Seriously, I see no reason why you would shut your vocalizer and continue to hurt yourself like this."

_Because Skyfire's love is not mine and I've seen the proof; this is a contest I'm going to lose no matter how hard I fight, not with Starscream as the competitor, _Ratchet wanted to answer that, but he could not – Wheeljack knew only his secret affection for the shuttle but not the fact that Skyfire himself had had his own to woo over, one who was not an Autobot and was far, far more alluring. So he said instead, "Because I just can't. You won't understand it."

The Lancia-former was intrigued by the loopholes-filled reply Ratchet gave to his question and was about to venture further down that route when his experiences befriending Ratchet advised him that to do so would only pursue a blind end. "If that's how you put it. But if you ask me, I'll say this any given orn – Just go and say it to Skyfire straight away, _I love you _or whatever, then let him turn you down or frag the sense out of you. Case closed."

Ratchet's vents hitched at the suggestion and the vivid imaginations it inspired; Skyfire, his faceplates full of disgust upon hearing the revelation of Ratchet's Spark, refusing to ever meet the medic ever again and flew off with Starscream, who cackled and mocked at medic's disappointment; on the other servo was a totally different consequence if he followed Wheeljack's advice, of the shuttle's arms wrapping around his smaller chassis and, as his friend had bluntly put it, 'frag the sense out of him'. Neither scenario was realistic, but it gave the CMO a confusing mix of fear-embarrassment that had his systems in flux in reacting to equally-powerful emotions.

"That's very 'helpful'." Ratchet replied, ignoring the fearful twinge his Spark sent in response to his fear and the embarrassment-induced warmth spreading on his cheek-plates.

"The point is," Wheeljack ventured on, choosing to ignore the sarcasm strong in the ambulance's answer, "You're upsetting yourself for invalid reason. Who knows what's his answer might be?"

"I'm gambling with dangerous holo-cards here," Ratchet almost snapped, then softened his tone to an apologetic note when realizing his unbecoming manners, "If he said _no_ –"

"Ah, see? You're winning the argument for me. _If_. It's uncertain whether he'll reject you or not. _If _he said _no_, then I'll let you sulk in peace –"

Ratchet scowled; no matter how Spark-broken, he was not that kind of mechs who locked themselves in their chambers and drained their reservoirs of their optical fluid. Wheeljack pretended not to notice.

" – or _if_ he said _yes_..."

Wheeljack craftily left his sentence hanging, spurring yet another fresh imagination from the Chief Medic's CPU – this time involving the shuttle's servos trailing over his chest-piece, inducing pulses after pulses from the aroused Spark that heated his armours that it felt like fire was burning in his Spark chamber...

"...maybe you're right..."

The fins on either side of Wheeljack's helm brightened with glee, almost as if saying to Ratchet _of course I'm right_. Ratchet hated to admit that the Lancia-former had a valid point in his argument, but the memories of Skyfire and Starscream, together in the brig with their lip-components locking with each other, uninterrupted and unknowing of the accidental audience watching their unfolding intimacy, remained burned into his data-banks. Recalling it, Ratchet did not know whether he would ever be able to gather enough courage to make his Spark's desires known to Skyfire, whether indirectly or not.

"Anyway," Ratchet quickly said in his effort to not linger on the sorrowful notions that threatened to dispirit him, "Why do you come? I suppose you want something from me?"

"Trying to change the topic, I see – but you're right; I've come because, um, this..."

The Autobot inventor hesitantly lifted his left arm to reveal the charred metal underneath, the centre of which dented and cracked open, as if something sharp and extremely hot had tried to bury into his armour. Sheepishly, he explained, "I was experimenting with a tracking device that use extreme heat to automatically weld itself to the target's armour...problem is, it won't stop drilling and, well, you see the result."

Ratchet's optics flickered in annoyance although he was already making his way to the operation table, red servos deftly sorting through an assortment of tools that he had arranged neatly upon its surface before. "And you use yourself as the lab retro-rat, I suppose."

"Err, no. It's an accident, sort of; I didn't realize that I had it turned on when I happened to rest my arm on the table..."

"Whatever. I still have to work overtime...just don't tell Skyfire about this; I told him that I was exhausted before he left."

Wheeljack could not suppress his laugh from escaping despite having an irritated Ratchet gesturing to the nearest operation berth where he would be subjected to the CMO's mercy for the next few kliks. He would get his audios tortured shortly after this for his recklessness, but for now he would laugh.

Ratchet gave that characteristic huff when he was forced to deal with ridiculous damages and set to work immediately when he had Wheeljack right where he wanted. He was grateful that no distractive thought of Skyfire or Starscream chose to bother him the instant he began cleaning the filthy armour in preparation for more thorough fixations. Only at times like this, when he had himself a patient waiting for his treatment, he felt himself momentarily freed from the anguish that had been eating at his Spark; he was the Autobot's Chief Medical Officer now and nothing personal must come into play when he had a responsibility to fulfil.


	10. Chapter 10

The screams had barely faded when he issued the next order.

"Bring out the next prisoner."

Emotionless. Sparkless. They were words that carried out death sentence to whom they concerned, but the purple mech who had uttered them did so with a voice bereft of any remorse or consideration. He watched as the Sentinel drones under his command disappeared into the dark corridors leading down to the jail area beneath the fortress of Darkmount to carry out his order, appearing kliks later with a slumped figure between them, their claws clamping unnecessarily tight on the captive's useless wrists even though it was clear from the way the pedes dragged along, rather than walked, that their owner was too under-energized to do nothing more than stare into the featureless head of Shockwave, the single bulb constituting a pair of optics setting down upon the contempt-filled faceplates of the other.

"...Monster..." croaked the helpless femme; the Autobot insignia stamped upon her prominent chest-piece had long been soiled by tortures and later, labours that she was forced to go through while under captivity.

"I merely follow the order of Lord Megatron," came the cold, logical reply.

The Autobot femme mustered all of her remaining strength to do the only thing she was capable of and spat in Shockwave's direction, her energon-blood spit landing on his pede.

"Y-you and Megatron both...can go melt in the Pit...!"

The Guardian of Cybertron regarded her with refreshed awe at her defiance, if nothing else. The previous victim was not as bold, having resorted to begging for his mercy to free her from the grim fate that awaited her next door. He looked highly upon to those who were brave, but logic came first and foremost; this femme was certainly not the cleverest, fighting even when there was no chance of winning. Ignoring the congealed energon blood that had dirtied the tip of his pede, he intoned, "Insufferable glitch. Cease your useless fighting. Your deactivation is inevitable." To the Sentinels at her either side, he commanded, "Bring her to the Extraction Chamber."

Her struggles were renewed at this as were her shouted curses despite being made known through feeble voice. Her limbs jerked in trying to loosen the hold the Sentinels had on her but their claws held fast, restraining all her efforts from coming to fruitation while dragging her into the place as Shockwave had ordered earlier. Her blue optics, already dull from the suffering she had undergone, dimmed further as the relative brightness of said chamber hit her optical sensors full force, hurting the underlying neurons with the sudden adjustment in light intensity. Inside it was almost bare save for the ominous-looking chair at the far end of it, the armrests at either side and the pede-platform at its base equipped with thick cuffs that would only be broken long after the victim's limbs they had caught did; the headrest was as sinister-looking, adjustable to the size of its occupant so that sizes did not matter if one was trying to escape from its grasp. Behind, a constantly-running conveyor belt purred as it moved slowly along its designated track, beginning and disappearing into two separate slots in the wall.

The Sentinels brought her to the chair and forced her to sit on it. The sensors lining the chair detected the presence of a victim and the cuffs locked in place; the headrest modified itself to snugly fit the femme's small helm before a metal band closed the opening in which her helm had been pushed through, firmly keeping her head there; the pede-platform rose to counter for her lesser height and strapped itself to her pedes with the cuffs. The femme was now completely, utterly helpless, able only to continue shouting her hatred and eternal damnation to all who called themselves Decepticons.

And to these, Shockwave merely replied, "Your presumptions are illogical, femme. Now face your own deactivation."

The shapely curve of her once-turquoise chassis, long had been bleached almost white by lack of treatments, would have held almost undeniable allure for Shockwave – had Shockwave did not being his unfeeling self. It was a shame that the minor ethnic of femmes confined on Cybertron had decided to side with the Autobots; the Decepticon could really use the stealth and grace that came naturally to them, and the mindless Sentinels were poor substitutes of what the femmes were capable of. While certain few mechs could be just as able, it was rare to find one who was inclined more to sneakiness than brute force; infiltrating enemy base required those subtle qualities and not merely blasting through the wall with, say, a Fusion Cannon.

The femme was still continuing her vocal tantrum, her chassis arching against the bonds that kept her in place; her faceplates emphasized anger and contempt, but the trembles shaking her chassis was not merely from rage or exhaustion – she was frightened, as she should be, although deactivation under the command of Shockwave would be relatively quicker than if Megatron oversaw it; the Decepticon Supreme Commander took his own sweet time in torturing captives to their deactivation, especially when he or she had outlived their usefulness. And having fetishes did not help Megatron's sado-masochism tendency.

Unlike humans, Transformers were hermaphroditic, which meant that all of them were rightfully male and female at the same time. While 'femme' and 'mech' were merely terms to categorize them based on their overall designs and nothing more than that, preferences still rose among them, with some preferring the more sturdy build of mechs while others seeking for the curvaceous shape characteristic of the femmes, and a majority of them did not give a second's glance whether they were flirting with the former or the latter. Megatron, however, had made himself crystal-clear in this aspect; mechs he would torture through conventional methods, while femmes would face far worse fates than that – until their Sparks were extinguished, those who caught his optics would be forced into interfacing that would leave many begging to be terminated on the spot at the end of each. Shockwave had witnessed many of such sessions since in most cases, they were not merely for the pleasure of the warlord; information could be obtained, forced cooperation could be gained and unwilling 'comrade' could be made when pain came into play; it all fell upon Shockwave, then, to gather the particulars that resulted from this unconventional interrogative method while Megatron was responsible for the continued...'persuasions' to his victims. Shockwave had never participated in any of them though, nor he ever practised it on others – to him, captivity, bondages and tools were adequate to get the job done.

An empty energon cube emerged out of the first slot in the wall, carried upon it by the conveyor belt whose progress was controlled by one of the Sentinel drones via a console stationed nearby. It came to rest just beside the chair, where a tube from the chair connected itself to the wall of the cube. Another one emerged from behind the headrest, this one slightly different in its design which was ended with multiple, smaller tentacles, whose own ends were fitted with needles. The Autobot femme stiffened momentarily upon realizing its ominous presence before renewing her desperate thrashing. Perhaps recognizing the immensity of the threat it represented, her efforts were surprisingly energetic, given her current condition, though they were nowhere near enough to do her any good. Shockwave again thought how impractical these prisoners were, whether they begged or thrashed to free themselves, because they knew what was coming and yet exhausted what energy they still had in denying their fates. How very illogical.

"Commence with the extraction," Shockwave gave the words in perfectly calm and cultured voice that a normal mech would never use when saying the equivalent of death sentences. The Sentinel did as was told; the tube emerging from the headrest responded to the buttons being pushed on the chair's control panel; it stood rigid behind her head, but the underling-tentacles slithered to the sides of her helms, caressing the panels and searching the right spots to abuse.

Having found those, the tentacles drove their needled ends into her cranial plating with short, clean thrusts.

The femme's scream echoed in the chamber with the volume of a thousand, her vocalizer emitting sparks through her gaping mouth from the sheer intensity of it. Electricity crackled along her trembling chassis as the tentacles extracted the energy wave her abused processors were radiating, and in the process, draining the Spark energy that powered them. The metres on the control panel measured the bounty of this purposeful torture, the Cybertronian numbers appearing on the screen showed an impressive amount from such a deprived Transformer. Behind, the cube was gradually filling with the life-giving energon at the expense of one who was on the road to oblivion herself.

Still shockwave watched, unperturbed and unflinching, as slow deactivation claimed the drained femme, his concern only for the result of this extraction. By the looks of it, she would be able to fill a whole cube on her own, better than her previous comrades had done. It usually took a combination of three individuals to produce one energon-full cube. At least, his spit-dirtied pede had not been for nothing. It was unavoidable that her survival had to be sacrificed, but it had to be done – everything comes with a price, he understood that much. The only consideration was whether the cost was worth the gain in return. In this case, it certainly was; her deactivation was a minor side-effect of producing energon cubes needed to power the Space Bridge. Moreover, she was no longer fit for labour works and she would only waste spaces in the brig if she was kept alive. No, Megatron was correct – the femme would be of more use when deactivated.

Gradually, her agonized screams subsided into incoherent whimpers, no more than one or two syllables at one time. Her grip on the chair's armrests had loosened considerably with the digits now barely holding onto the ledge. And the draining continued on...until with a gasped intake of her vents and oral cavity, her Spark lost the last drop of energy to power her functioning; her optics were the first to fail, not merely dimming, but the light in them was extinguished completely, leaving the retinal glasses black and lifeless. Her other movements ceased too, her mouth still agape in the image of her last expression. The tube connected to the now-full energon cube detached itself from its subject, retracting back into its hidden slot – and the cube resumed its journey into the depth of the other slot, disappearing into the shadows within with the remaining of the femme contained within it. Sensing lifelessness from its captive, the cuffs sprang open automatically, but the femme was no longer in position to exploit her freedom. Everything that this physical plane of existence had to offer was no longer hers.

Quickly, knowing that the process had been completed, the drones got to work in removing the chassis from the chair; they dragged it towards another slot in the wall, which gaped into existence the moment they approached it, this one with an opening wide enough to fit a mech with Megatron's size. Into this the Sentinels dumped the chassis, its form vanishing as the shadowy depth swallowed it whole before the hole sealed itself, once more assuming the appearance of an innocently boring wall.

Shockwave had no face upon which his expression could be showed, but inside he felt a tinge of disappointment; that was the last occupant of the brig. So far, only seven energon cubes had been successfully produced, still very far from his minimum amount of thirty-five. Shockwave was also not a fool to count solely on fortune and so he had set up a base number at fifty...which meant more producers. And there was no other choice but –

"Bring me the construction slaves."

The Sentinels left without a word; they never did. Sometimes, Shockwave found it a boon that he was forced to work with mindless drones. There was no question asked and no argument raised. Being a Guardian of the lonely Cybertron had its perks, a fact that was shared by all seats of power. Turning from the hallways into which his soldiers had disappeared, he strode to the chair, now empty of occupants, and examined its state. Still perfect and functional, he concluded after a brief scan. So far it had consumed twenty-four Sparks and yet it was as ready as ever to carry out its diabolical task. A breem later, echoes of the chair's victim's voice began to resonate from down the hallways, this time sounding far more enraged and a little more energetic.

And the cycle began all over again.

_**XxXx**_

It was the sort of night whose descriptions were frequently used by one's creators as a prologue to a horror tale – dark and stormy, though in this case it was not rainwater that the storm brought, but _sand – _lots and lots of it. Of course, Starscream could not have known of this, but he might as well guess it because of their location. The walls were effective in damping the sounds that came from outside so the _rat-tap-tap_ created by the torrent as it lashed against the surfaces of the Ark came to Starscream's audios only as a distant _rrrrrr, _if only he was awake; the Seeker was currently in recharge, obeying only the slightest idea of what jorn it was of the orn, with only his internal clock to inform him of this. In the brig, time was only as indicated by his chronometer but all else were obsolete. The lighting here was perpetually dim, neither daylight nor night time, hovering just in between as if challenging its occupant to continue functioning in this uncertainty.

Despite the conditions, Starscream's recharge was physically undisturbed and free of memory recollections – it was a perfect blend for a perfect session – which is why it was shocking, even for the Seeker, that his CPU suddenly rebooted and his sensors kicked back online as if supplied with jumpstarting-voltage. His optics were slow to online but his touch perceptions were sensitive enough to notice that his chassis was condensation-slicked, new droplets constantly escaping through seams in his armours. His vents were furiously cycling air, cooling fans roaring within his frame – and then he realized that his internal circuits were overheating. But why?

Starscream looked around, trying to find if he had visitor that was the cause of his sudden reboot. There was none that he could see. Annoyance crept into his systems, his CPU somehow conjuring up a mental image of a mech, hidden in shadows outside of his viewing range, laughing at his misery. Thinking it did no good whatsoever in reducing his core temperature, which had been steadily rising ever since he broke his recharge. His chassis was drenched in condensation by now, and when he lifted a servo to wipe a trickle that threatened to run down his cheek-plates, he noticed that it was quivering. Suddenly, it all became clear to him.

_Pit. Not now..._

Unfortunately, it WAS now – and the 'it' turned out to be his claustrophobia, finally rearing its ugly head after orns of captivity. The cell he was occupying suddenly took a life of its own – the walls seemed to close in on him. And although Transformers did not generally need air in the same sense as humans did, it felt as if the area was suddenly vacuumed out of it nevertheless, leaving his vents and intakes starving to feed themselves. They struggled to cool his now lightly-steaming internals but for all the impressions they had on Starscream's well-being, they might have been non-existent altogether.

Out of nothing else to do, the Seeker scooted on the berth until his wingless back hit against the wall; he could not relax, but having something to support him from behind at least gave him the illusion that somebody was indeed with him, accompanying him through these terrible moments. The imagination's effect lasted for only two astroseconds – after that, the wall's coldness registered to his sensors and reality again insisted that he was not leaning against another's chassis but a lifeless wall and Starscream found himself terribly alone and afraid. Drawing up his knees at the joint until they touched his cockpit's yellow glass, he wrapped his shaking arms round his folded legs, entire chassis rocking back and forth on a small area of his aft, the only surface of his frame that was in contact with the berth beneath him.

The room shrank a little bit more –Pit, were those faces that were materializing on the wall? – and he shrank into himself further. His rocking increased in speed, back and forth, back and forth, trying to ignore the maniacal laughter coming out from the twisted cracks that were their makeshift mouths, scarlet, almost organic optics staring and glaring with mock and hatred, despising his weakness and incapability –

"I'm not weak." Starscream did not like the sound of his voice at all. He sounded a lot more defiant when he was on his knees and begging for Megatron to spare him from more punishments, and even then he had felt degraded enough.

The faces on the wall laughed harder. Starscream wondered if he had crashed his logic circuits – probably he did, because his latest knowledge was that inanimate objects were not supposed to be able to do that. Even though he was quite sure of these, and that the mocking, insinuating visages were nothing more than fear-induced hallucinations, they seemed eerily real that no amount of persistence could truly convince him that they were nothing more than make-believes. It was not abnormal for him to experience claustrophobia – frag it, Megatron seemed to enjoy looking at him shaking from his fear after orns of being held in the Nemesis's dark brig – but this particular experience was so unbelievably intense. That he had no wings increased his fear of even flying again, and another hard reality was that he was not being thrown in here by Megatron's order. He was here because he had been captured by the Autobots. In his normalcy, having guards outside of his small prison irritated him, but in his current condition he cursed them for not assigning at least one to do so during the night, so terribly alone he was that even the company of his enemies seemed not only bearable, but welcomed.

_No, not all of the Autobots are the enemies,_ Starscream reasoned. At least, Skyfire was not. Hadn't his passionate kisses made sure of that fact? Yes, they did, and because of it, the Decepticon hoped fervently that it was the shuttle-former's servos which were cupping the small of his back, and not the cold surface of the cell's wall he was leaning against.

_Skyfire, where are you?_

Of course, the shuttle must have been peacefully recharging in his quarters if the time as his chronometer indicated could be relied upon, perhaps recollecting memory files of him soaring through the sky, with broad wings being cradled by Air's gentle and yet formidable arms, carrying him through the heavens like some sort of gigantic eagle. Starscream's vocalizer let loose a pitiful whine, wanting to escape into the dreams of flight also but knowing full well the impossibility of it.

"Skyfire...please come..."

But his feeble voice would never reach the shuttle's audios even if he was right there beyond the brig area's door. He wanted to scream, but it seemed as if an obnoxious programming had restricted the maximum volume that was allowed for his vocalizer. His trembling was alternated by the hitches made by his intakes, pectoral and those on the shoulder ones. The irony of it all nearly made him laughed – that Starscream could not live up to his designation in these joors of need.

There was still nobody and the Decepticon Seeker felt as if he was the only mech alive in this universe, accompanied only by the wall-faces that had stopped laughing in honour of cackling madly. Their voices were never clear to his audios as if he was hearing them vocalize from the bottom of a lake, but their tones were insulting enough that the Seeker was grateful that the exact wording remained unknown to him. Red optics flashed with glee and malice, like predators watching their prey died, waiting for right moment to pounce upon his dead chassis.

Just as he thought that it could not get any worse, their mumble clarified enough for Starscream to hear –

_Always alone..._

_What a poor, pathetic creature..._

_Surrender...and your deactivation would be easier..._

_Your existence held no meaning..._

_You are alone..._

_Only the plaything of greater powers..._

Starscream's optics went offline and his servos flew up to cup the side-vents on his helm that were his audios, futilely struggling to block the cackling, insinuating, laughing voices, which he was forced to hear even when he offline his auditory function completely. Hopeless and helpless through the mental tortures, his vents sobbed and hitched as if the owner was drowned in his despair, shouting to no one in particular, "NO! I'm not! Leave me alone!"

_But why, Starscream?_

_You want company, don't you?_

_We're here, with you..._

_...Always..._

_...Forever..._

The Seeker had had enough; his scream echoed in the brig area with a volume that would have ordinarily left his vocalizer overwhelmed by strains, but he could not care enough about it right now. Even if he would eventually destroy his circuits in doing so, he would continue to live up to his designation if it meant stopping him from hearing the wall-faces' eerie voices and the falsehood they spread.

The ringing laughter continued on in the background of Starscream's own shrill voice.

_**xxxxx**_

Ratchet had not gone back to his living quarters despite his earlier promise to Wheeljack after repairing the Lancia's armours from his self-caused injuries. He did not feel like it, and recharge was somewhat elusive to his processors. So he stayed back, pulled out a stack of rarely-activated reference datapads from the metal safe he had long since forgotten its existence to this orn – why would he anyway, since his vast medical knowledge made it unnecessary for him to refer to schematics and diagrams – and sat down before his working desk, which was converted for this moment into his study desk. Repairing and restoration had been so ingrained into his core programming that he might not need studying at all, but Skyfire had been so meticulous in this particular project; Ratchet did not wish to be the one who ruin it all. That, and with Skyfire already finished with the wiring and construction, it would be not long before he was required to install the wings to their rightful place.

_Strange that I'm working myself up for someone like Starscream, _Ratchet mused between his readings – he was already halfway through the seventh datapad – and felt a bitter smile remoulding his lip-components. The screen displayed a summarized schematic of a Seeker-based frame, but this one was not exactly one that he was searching. It was based on older, Vector Sigma-produced designs, one that far predated the age of Starscream, who Ratchet suspected to be a few millennia younger than that.

_Because I'm a medic;_ _I serve for the good of all Cybertronians,_ a silent answer came from his own muddled CPU, one that he remembered reciting when he was admitted into the ranks of medical staffs. Sighing through his intakes, Ratchet discarded the datapad he was holding and reached for the next one, hoping that the contents would yield more usefulness than the previous one. He was elated that the diagram it showed was a list of many flight-oriented chasses, both factory-designed and quite a number of Sparkmerge productions – he would stand more chance finding Starscream's base frame here.

_Don't lie, you help because it is Skyfire's wish._ This came from the sterner part of himself that was brutally honest with his feelings and emotions, one that Ratchet had always took great care to refrain for his line of work naturally demanded a high level of professionalism that did not sit well with this particular part of him. This time, though, Ratchet relented to the insistence and admitted the truth in it. It was rare that he did so, but the strength to resist it had ebbed away along with his hope.

"I'm a fool, am I?" Ratchet whispered in a voice that was so soft, even he himself could barely hear it. Saying it will not erase the feelings that he had culminated for almost a stellar cycle, nor could it somehow change the direction of Skyfire's Spark, but it did, to some extent, provided relief that was not forthcoming in any other way – it felt like admitting the impossibility of his desire, and thus, assuring him that even if the shuttle did acknowledge Ratchet's feelings, intimacy was really out of the question. His digit trailed down the list of frames appearing on the datapad's screen even as his processors were busy filtering the mental turmoil he had going on in his systems, miraculously keeping optimal efficiency through the multitasking he was forcing unto himself. Cybertronians were generally quite talented in doing several things all at once, but few did have the efficiency of Ratchet, another aspect of him that raised his value as a medic.

One image caught his optics; it looked incredibly similar to the Decepticon SIC's design, but Ratchet was not so sure due to the slight difference in the ignition system. Alteration from a tetra-jet to the human's F-15 could contribute to the conflicting design, but the possibility of such case was not very convincing. The fact that it was probable too that Starscream had personally tinkered with his own chassis like he did with his wings added complexity to the delicate equation the Chief Medic had going on in his CPU. The practicality of such modifications probably served Starscream well in the orns of his planetary exploration, but that exactly what made it difficult for his medic-in-charge.

Ratchet could have waited for Skyfire to break his recharge cycle to ask for his opinion – the shuttle could probably decide in just two astroseconds whether or not the design he was currently staring at belonged to the same model as Starscream – but the medic felt a strange urge to do it by himself. His logic circuits recognized the astronomical stupidity involved in his action, but this could no longer be considered a professional issue alone; it was partly fuelled by his primal desire to see optic-to-optic the mech whose splendour won the attention of the shuttle he had loved himself and perhaps...perhaps only then he would be able to truly let go. It would be painful but if Skyfire himself would rather have Starscream...then there would be no reason for him to cling on his tenuous hope anymore.

It took a while for the datapads to be arranged in satisfying neatness, Ratchet being his usual meticulous self when it comes to his working place and condition, before the medic left his 'territory'. By then, the desire and determination to come face to face with Starscream had been dulled enough for the shouts of _it's stupid!_ from his logic circuits to be rightfully considered. Ratchet might have heeded the silent advice if not for the sudden screams that rang in the hallways, thus erasing all else from his mind but the single imperative drive to find the source of the sound.

_That comes from the brig, _Ratchet realized with cold dread. He did not fear encountering the Seeker but rather ingrained in his programming was the motivation to care for those in need – and he would be very much surprised if he was wrong in his opinion that the voice was screaming in terror. As if on their own accords, his pedes took him there immediately, urgency filling each of his step, his senses tingling with premonition of the worst. Ratchet might not be a very high-ranking Autobot compared to the likes of Prowl or Jazz, but being a Chief Medical Officer made him one of the key officers important to the proper functioning of the whole troop, and thus earning him access to the brig area – a reservation that came with his importance. Most Autobots questioned the relevance between being a medic and having one's presence in the brig, but situations like these practically speak for themselves. Now, Ratchet could only be grateful that Prowl had the insight to give him this particular privilege.

Passing through the entrance into the brig area, Ratchet found himself looking at a very out-of-character Starscream; the Decepticon, normally proud and full with malice, now lying on his side an curling himself into the smallest possible ball that his chassis could make. The shiver that ran through his frame was visible even from this distance; his vocalizer had given up screaming and resorted to incoherent mumbling instead, unreachable to Ratchet's audios when uttered at such low volume but definitive of his fear nevertheless. Caution asserted itself into the medic's priority list, reminding him that his own safety surpassed that of Starscream. And besides, the Seeker could still prove himself to be a menace, if the event involving Perceptor was of anything to go by. He observed the pitiable form of the Decepticon for a few more nanokliks, calculating and recalculating the best action to be taken when a sorrowful whine escaped through the flyer's gritted dentas. It was that which helped Ratchet made his decision.

::Ratchet to Ironhide. Come in, please.::

The reply came slower than was expected of the Autobot warrior, but it came nonetheless. From the croakiness characteristic of a newly-rebooted vocalizer that Ironhide's made evident, it was a good assumption that Ratchet's call had broken his recharge session. The medic had never intended to disturb the hardworking mech's much-deserved rest, but it could not be helped. Such matters were under Red Alert's department but since he himself had relieved the Security Director from active duty, Ironhide was the next in line to take up the responsibility.

::Ironhide. What's with the calling?::

The mech's Southern pronunciation made his own designation came out as _Aarn-haahd_ instead – and he was positively grumpy with the interruption.

::I've a situation in the brig area. It's Starscream – He doesn't look too well. I'll have to take a look at him but I'm going to need someone to look over me.::

::Ahm comin'. Hold on in there.:: Ironhide's voice had lost its irritation at the news. His tone had gone quite serious, the urgency in it matching with Ratchet's own. There was a pause, and then:

::And DON'T do an'thin' until ah come. Ah don't trust 'im even if that 'Con's really dyin'.::

The comm. link went off. Ratchet ended his own too, not in the least planning to go against Ironhide's command – that was, until the Seeker's keening cry ensnared the medic's attention back to the present. Any thought of the Secondary Security Officer or his words of advices were swiftly forgotten when he saw the splatters of energon blood smearing the wall nearest to the Seeker, who had abandoned self-huddling to smash both fists against what would amount to as imaginary enemies, apparently pinned against the surrounding walls in the Seeker's hallucinating optics.

"Leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

The Seeker screamed, and a whole lot of more colourful curses spat out from his vocalizer in a mixture of rage and fear whilst continuing the punching. Starscream's armour lost against the hardier Cybertanium wall of his cell; with each contact, his plating dented and scraped with eerie _clang_ which was amplified by the reflective surfaces of the place. Already his two digits were broken from the vicious pounding they were forced to endure, pouring out energon blood from ruptured tubes within them – and Ratchet decided that enough was enough.

In his madness, Starscream did not realize that the energy rods barring his cell had been cancelled on Ratchet's command but it served the medic's purpose somehow. Who knew what kind of reaction that Starscream might make when seeing an Autobot charging into his cell even if it was originally intended for his own good? While making to approach the maniacal Seeker, Ratchet again opened his comm. link, though this time, the subject of his broadcast was not Ironhide, but –

::Skyfire!::

Unlike with Ironhide, the shuttle-former's answer was immediate – he must be still awake, though wherever he was was still unknown. But that did not matter, he will need his aid just as much as he needed Ironhide's.

::Ratchet? What's wrong?::

Starscream chose that particular time to alter his behaviours for the worse – instead of deciding that punching the wall would get him somewhere, his insanity apparently had turned his logic circuit's functionality 180◦ when the Decepticon flyer started banging his helm into the craters previously made with his fists.

"Starscream! Stop this! Stop at once!"

On the Skyfire's side of communication, all the shuttle could hear was silence since physical vocalization was not included in the transmission by default, though one could do so by conscious choice. However, in the tumults of the present, Ratchet had naturally forgotten the shuttle as he rushed to Starscream's side whose helm was partially crushed, dripping energon blood from the ragged edge until he was called again:

::Ratchet! Are you there?::

::Yes, yes I am. There's something wrong with Starscream, though. It looks like...he's having a panic attack.::

There was a sudden momentary pause born from surprise, an uncomfortable silence that left Ratchet feeling terribly alone before Skyfire's voice was heard again over the comm. link, this time sounding more concerned than bewildered:

::Ratchet, I need you to tell me the symptoms – and don't go anywhere near him yet.::

Ratchet was still an arm's length away from the Decepticon flyer, whose banging had slowed somewhat but still impacted the Seeker at dangerous level. Not to mention the purplish fluid seeping out from the cracks as well as natural gaps in his armours. Seeing him like this, it was impossible for Ratchet to heed Skyfire's last 'command' but he could still obey the first one, hence him saying:

::He's trembling all over, and it seems to me like...he's having hallucinations. He's hurting himself, Skyfire – his energon's all over the place! I'm going in – see if I can calm him down.::

::Calm him d – Ratchet, no! Don't go in there! Stay put! Stay –::

"Aack...!"

A bloody servo had shot forward the instant Starscream whirled around on a thruster-heel and grabbed hold round Ratchet's bundled neck-cables. It all happened so fast that all the ambulance managed to perceive was a blur of colours before he felt a sudden tightening on his head-to-torso cabling, blue digits constricting with a force that was unexpectedly massive given to Starscream's current condition.

"You...!" Starscream uttered in contempt he only usually reserved upon spitting upon his leader's designation after particularly torturous disciplinary sessions, optics flaring bright with intention that Ratchet's CPU could not fathom.

"S-star...scream..."

Ratchet's vocalizer was unable for coherent enough speech, seeing that the main fuel line was crushed in said Seeker's almost-death grip; the medic fumbled futilely with his servos against the other's for release, but the clawing seemed to do nothing more than infuriate the Decepticon who tightened his grip with every syllable that escaped his victim's vocalizer.

"No, NO! I will escape from this pit-hole, I will be free, I will fly again!"

_He's rambling, he's not himself,_ Ratchet's medical skills concluded for him even in his current distress. That in no manner brought relief for the CMO for with his insanity, it would not be likely that his logic circuits were at proper functioning – to simply put it, Starscream could not be reasoned with. Ratchet had never landed himself as squarely in the slag as of now, and it was not something he was proud of.

Barely he thought of these, Starscream's digits squeezed at Ratchet's vulnerable neck-cables. His last realization was that of his inability to scream out the agony the Seeker so easily imparted to him before a blissful darkness overtook his sensory perceptions and consciousness slipped away from his processor's hold.

After that, _nothing._

_**xxxxx**_

::Ratchet!::

"Ratchet!"

Skyfire had not realized it that his desperate call had physically escaped his vocalizer as well as his comm. link which was so abruptly ended without even a notice prior to its severing. He DID realize however, that Ratchet was in trouble, if his last transmission was properly decoded – and it was not like the medic at all to rudely cut off the connection.

Wheeljack, still sitting at the table next to Skyfire's, looked up at his partner upon the unexpected vocalization; the head-fins glowed a soft shade of blue matching to that which coloured his optics. In the silence of his workshop, the shuttle-former's whisper carried well throughout the space, the metallic walls bouncing the sound back and forth and creating echoes that amplify Ratchet's designation to a volume akin to that being spoken by half a dozen Skyfires – and repeating it to half a dozen times as well.

"Skyfire?"

"He's in trouble!"

There was no need for clarification as to whom the 'he' might be, nor there was need also for him to ask for the Lancia-former to hurry after him; wings faintly fluttering from distress, the shuttle practically flew off his chair, which he had been sitting on for joors as he completed the last shaping of pieces of metal that, when welded together would form a Seeker's wings that would soon be Starscream's, with Wheeljack hot on his pedes. With the speed he was making, Skyfire's size was a useless indication; flight required lightweight frame, and so his chassis had its mass reduced through it being made of special alloy that was as durable as it was light, which was exactly the thing that allowed Skyfire to run at velocity that had Wheeljack's vents spluttering and struggling to do their jobs. At this time, the other Autobots were bound to be recharging, which was why both of them were taken by surprise when another set of running pede-steps joined theirs. The next astroseconds revealed a hulking form of Ironhide out from one of the adjoining corridors, his intakes being abused by his running just as much as Wheeljack's had. Upon meeting with the other two, however, he did not stop; blue optics made contact with each other and somehow, with the glowing concern etched into all of their features and their seemingly similar direction, Skyfire, Wheeljack and Ironhide understood that they were engaged in the same mission.

The three mechs arrived at the brig area nanokliks later only to be greeted by a sight that momentarily stopped their Spark-pulse; with a limp Ratchet held dangling about a Cybertronian feet from the ground by his neck, Starscream presented a perfect picture of maniacal terminator. Energon blood – Primus knew to whom they belonged to, though the medic did not seem to be overtly damaged – stained the surrounding walls as well as the floor, the former also having an express makeover with numerous punch-marks and cracks that were not there a joor before.

Naturally, the first to wake up from this trance was Ironhide. He raised an arm whose servo had already retracted, leaving an empty space that was also the nozzle for the integrated weaponries he had installed to his chassis – what choice it was this time, Skyfire had no idea, but a buzzing in his CPU insisted that it was nevertheless a prelude to what was unmistakably a nasty shooting. The realization roused the shuttle-former from his own oblivion and reached out to nudge the arm away from pointing at Starscream.

"Skyfire?" It sounded _Ska-fayr _in his Southern accent but it was understandable, as was the annoyance and disbelief noticeably ringing in his voice.

Said mech shook his helm and jerked his chin in the direction of the Decepticon, still apparently unaware of the new audiences to his gory drama. "It's clear that Starscream is not exactly right in the CPU...attacking him in this state will not do much good for Ratchet." _Or Starscream_, but the thought was never vocalized.

"Ah wuz gonna freeze 'im; Ratchet ain't gettin' blasted –"

"That's not going to work either. How are we going to separate two mechs frozen together in a chunk of ice cube?" This was Wheeljack; for his intervention, Skyfire would never be able to thank him enough since too many times of denial would likely lead to suspicion for the old warrior's part. "Your nitrogen blast will practically make them as one, and worse, if Starscream's motor cables are frozen rigid, it will crush on Ratchet's neck cabling."

"Primus, ye' two! What d'ye' have me do if ah canna' shoot or freeze 'im?" Despite the retort, the nozzle had been reverted back to the role of a servo – though given the chance, there would be no doubt as to the immediate transformation to a gun's nozzle. Ironhide's optics were trained hard upon Wheeljack, awaiting suggestion that was seemingly not forthcoming – though in the end, Wheeljack's head-fins flashed again nervously as he said:

"Um...null-rays? I heard that Starscream's –"

"Nuh-uh. Too far. Ratch ain't gonna hold fer' that long."

"I have an idea," Skyfire volunteered, partly because to save the Autobot inventor from further quailing under Ironhide's you-better-come-up-with-something-fast look but it was largely due to the fact that those two had no knowledge to deal with Starscream, especially when the Seeker was in claustrophobic madness.

Expectedly, both turned to regard him with shocked optics – Skyfire was not exactly one who raised his servo to be on the frontline. While current circumstance did not emphasize a large-scale battle, the shuttle putting himself in the line of fire was still something that they did not expect. Ignoring the uneasiness at being the centre of attention, he ventured on, "This may sound ridiculous...but I will go in there and – and talk with Starscream into releasing Ratchet."

Their initial surprise easily evolved into full-blown disbelief – since they were unaware of the past friendship between Skyfire and Starscream and, recently, the budding romantic interest they harboured for each other, to them the large mech practically asked for a trouble possibly too big to be handled.

"That's suicide,"Ironhide simply replied with a shake of his helm.

"Maybe, but it's better than doing nothing."

"And if Starscream suddenly decides that you're just another dummy for him to play with?" Wheeljack cut off Ironhide's protest with an argument pretty much the same to those running in the van-former's CPU.

"Then I've just bought you extra nanokliks to bring Ratchet to safety," was Skyfire's answer. His faceplates were set in a grim expression that both of his comrades saw much too often – it was a resignation to whatever fate had in store for them, accepting the equality of odds in succeeding and failing.

'Still sayin' it's suicide – but ye' gotta point there," Ironhide gruffly agreed, getting a reluctant nod of approval from his inventor friend upon seeing the determination shining in the shuttle's brilliant optics.

"There's all to it, then." Already Skyfire could feel his motor-cables tautening in distress at the weight of responsibility he had just accepted into his servo but it was too late to turn back now. A normally inexpressive mech, his wings drew tighter together behind him as he approached Starscream's cell with cautious steps, reflecting just how anxious he was at the prospect of failing to save Ratchet from possible deactivation. He was about to punch in the access code when a roughened servo touched him on the elbow joint, demanding his attention.

Spinning around, he saw Ironhide's shorter form standing just beside him. The servo that had made contact with his chassis a few astroseconds before had its index digit pointing straight at Skyfire's faceplates as if in accusation, though the word that came out of his vocalizer were, "Ye' better get outta there in one piece or else..."

_Good luck_, Skyfire's CPU translated easily the lengthy sentence Ironhide had gifted him. Nodding his acknowledgement to the old warrior, he whispered in turn, "I'll keep that in mind. Now, I suggest you keep hidden – too many mechs will just make Starscream nervous, and you don't want to be anywhere near a nervous Seeker. But be ready to fetch Ratchet when he is released."

Skyfire did not see him retreat into the deeper shadows in the brig area for his optics had already left him to focus on the mechs inside the cell instead, but he could hear him did so – supposedly pulling Wheeljack along, judging by the hurried pede-steps the other made. Then, with the last mental preparation, Skyfire leaned towards the cell's energy rods as close as he could and summoned in his voice, simultaneously soft and yet ringing with authority the shuttle never consciously knew he possessed:

"Starscream."

He knew Starscream well enough to anticipate the Seeker's next reaction, which was dead on; he did indeed whirled around to find the source of the call as Skyfire had predicted, though the arm whose servo held Ratchet's neck captive was almost unmoving altogether. Crimson optics dimmed at the sight of the shuttle, though the glow was sinister and unfriendly. Skyfire's logic circuits buzzed with prediction of negative scenarios.

"You're not Skyfire. You can't fool me."

It was not totally unexpected – even Starscream minus his craziness possessed a strong sense of mistrust – but it sure did complicate matters. Naturally, Skyfire had the patience sufficient to keep going at this pace for joors, but he was not sure that tardiness could be tolerated at all when it came to Ratchet's safety.

"No, you're wrong," Skyfire contradicted, his voice maddeningly calm given the situation though the _thump-thump _of his Spark-pulse seemed loud enough to be heard by nearby mechs if one happened to be in the vicinity. "No one is fooling you. I am real just as you are."

"No!" Snarled the Seeker; the way his lip-components curled into an ugly grimace befitted more as an expression coming from feral organic instead of a highly-advanced mechanical being, squeezing words out between gritted dentas, "You're just another make-believe! I'll conquer you – just as I have done with this one!" and tossed the unmoving figure of Ratchet to the ground.

Skyfire had just only presence of mind to realize what this act could lead to and hastily established connections with his two comrades waiting outside, practically shouting into their receptions:

::No, wait! Not yet!::

He could imagine their displeasure at the delay but unless they wanted a crazier Starscream to deal with, it could not be helped; even Skyfire himself felt the urge to just rush in for the rescue. Freed from the pressure on his energon lines, Ratchet's processors would initiate rebooting sequence in just a short while. Even as he hoped to have Ratchet out of the hot water by then, it seemed more and more impossible by the astrosecond.

Sighing through his pectoral intakes, he whispered, "Let me show you, Starscream."

The Seeker reacted as though he was just being condemned for permanent deactivation; the tensing in the hold of his wings was pitiful enough in Skyfire's optics that he almost resigned to leave him be but the figure of his medic-friend lying limp on the floor tugged at his Spark – and Starscream was not known to calm down peacefully if left to his own device. With a push of the appropriate button, the brig's entrance cleared out of the energy rods for Skyfire to step in, carefully, slowly; doing his best to pose as a harmless mech despite his size. A rational Starscream would know his inherent gentleness readily but perceiving him as a claustrophobic-induced hallucination at the moment, the Seeker had an equal probability of accepting his company or attacking him.

"W-wait! What are you doing?" The Seeker all but shrieked when Skyfire'a advance was unfaltering despite his aggressive display and the repeated snarls from his vocalizer, falling into backwards steps as he did.

For his part, Skyfire proceeded with the same slowness, carefully sidestepping Ratchet's prone chassis while keeping optical contact with the Decepticon. "I'm proving myself, Starscream – You are under illusion of being in danger, when the danger is only in yourself," his voice had gained a new steely quality now, having new confidence thrust into him that he had gotten this far. Now, if only he could keep Starscream occupied with himself and simultaneously hiding the others...

"Are you going to laugh at me too?"

The sudden deviation from their topic caught the shuttle off-guard. "Uh...what?"

"They laugh at me," the Decepticon flyer muttered while sweeping his index finger around the cell as if to point something that were obviously around them – though for the sake of Cyebertron, Skyfire saw nothing but blank (and at some parts, bloodied and cracked) walls. "Are you going to laugh at me too?"

"Of course not. Why would I?" The shuttle-former dropped to one knee-joint, intending both to appear as unimposing as possible and to shield the going-on that were about to happen with his huge chassis. To the others, he told:

::Be ready. Anytime now – do it fast and quietly.::

They did not answer, but he knew that they were readying themselves nevertheless. Emboldened by Starscream's passiveness, Skyfire scooted, inch by inch, towards his troubled friend, who looked to be in conflict whether to run away, attack or just do nothing. In the end, the Seeker apparently decided that no harm would befall him from this mech, whether he was real or just a figment of his imagination, and relaxed his stance a little.

Extending out his arms in a gesture of acceptance, Skyfire adopted an even gentler tone and whispered, "It's okay, Starscream. Come here."

He did, as if a mech robbed of the will of his own; aware that the nanoklik he reached within the shuttle's range he would be at his mercy but could not help himself from trusting him with his persuasive voice and an aura of friendliness, of serenity that he would not have felt if he was only a person without realism. The moment those huge arms enclosed him round his tapering waist, he knew that this was indeed Skyfire; _his _Skyfire. Nothing else could have spread the warmth he felt coursing through his chassis like the shuttle's touch.

Skyfire wondered if by embracing the Decepticon, no matter how depressed he was, would rouse question that he would not enjoy answering from his comrades later but he had to take the chance. When the Seeker pressed himself against his much-broader chassis, he knew that he had succeeded and contacted the others:

::Ironhide, Wheeljack, you can come in now – but only either one of you. I don't want him startled.::

::I'm going in.::

The answerer was Wheeljack and Skyfire thought that it was well too that it was the Autobot inventor who volunteered; Ironhide was a good mech, no doubt of that, but sometimes his temper got the best of him, not to mention his habit of shoot first, ask later. No, best leave the Decepticon-bashing to the old warrior rather than such meticulous rescue mission.

::Remember – Quick and quiet.::

Wheeljack responded with his affirmative; with his back turned towards the cell's entrance, the shuttle could not physically see with his optics of the happenings behind him, hence maintaining connection with the Autobot and setting up his scanner to active detection to keep tabs of his progress without revealing his doing to Starscream. The Seeker's servo was wandering all over the front of his chassis as if seeking assurance that the shuttle was real and would not suddenly vanish.

"Skyfire."

"I'm here," the Autobot flyer assured; his scanner meanwhile was informing him of Wheeljack's proximity and wished more fervently that he would succeed. Motivated by this thought as well as the tentative brushes of Starscream's digits on his Autobot insignia, his servos left their gentle grasp on the other's waist to gently frame the sides of Starscream's bloodied, dented helm, knowing that his comrades would be unable to see what he was doing; his whisper was like the touch of a feather to the audios that heard it, "Look at me, Starscream."

Starscream did as was told; dull red optics met Skyfire's blue pair, within them festered all sorts of sorrow, nervousness, fear and insecurity. It made the shuttle's Spark heavy with pity and concern, hence the tender kiss he imparted to the top of his helm where the dents from his own abuses were nastiest – the taste of energon blood touched the tip of his glossa, its natural sweetness in its most original form being tempered by tanginess. Skyfire ignored the confusing taste and pressed his lip-components harder against the charcoal-black surface; Wheeljack had reached Ratchet's position by now and was struggling to lift the chassis up; despite his size, the CMO was solidly-built, hence his extra weight. After all, his form – whether bipedal or vehicular – was for medical functionality, unlike other mechs who had adopted the alt-modes of, say, a sports car.

"Don't leave me," the Seeker mumbled, repeating the words he had once said to the shuttle the orn they had their first kiss. And just like that, his chassis suddenly gone limp as emergency recharge took out his systems by surprise, by all means eager to eliminate the glitches appearing in his codes and programming that were born out of his miserable state. He did not fall, however – Skyfire's servos held him pressed against his own broad torso, even now manoeuvring to the wingless back and slender waist for better his support. He had no intention of leaving him just like that.

Wheeljack had retreated all the way to the brig's exit by now; Ratchet was held securely in his arms, apparently still unconscious. Skyfire extended the perimeter of his detection and found Ironhide also nearby, hesitating in his steps whether to stay put or follow the Lancia-former. It was heartening that he had the Autobot's concern, but for this moment it was unnecessary.

::Ironhide, follow Wheeljack. He might need your help.::

::Will ye' be alright?::

::Starscream will be of no trouble anymore. I think I will.::

His scanner detected the mech's retreat nanokliks after their connection was severed, somehow managing to imagine Ironhide walking out of the brig area none-too-pleased at being denied the chance to give a Decepticon a good beating. Solitude was his the moment Ironhide exited the brig area and the door shut close in his wake. Looking down made his Spark fluttered with a sense of peace and relief upon seeing Starscream lay in recharge, slumped against his cockpit and supported from slumping to the floor by the presence of his servos. Carefully, he adjusted the Seeker's chassis so he lay snugly in his arms before proceeding towards the berth at the other end of the cell. It was uncomfortable compared to the one he had installed in his living quarter, but it would just have to do for now – there was no way that a Decepticon prisoner would be permitted outside of the brig just so he could get comfortable.

Starscream jerked a little when he was deposited upon the berth despite the gentleness Skyfire was using in the process, perhaps startled by the lack of warmth from the berth compared to his friend's body but he remained in recharge. The shuttle resigned himself to wait a few more astroseconds before leaving and sat down beside the Seeker; feeling his nearness even when he was deep in subconsciousness, Starscream rolled to the side so as to get closer to the friendly warmth his body craved for.

Skyfire dropped a servo on the black helm of the Seeker, mindful of the damages showing on that part of his chassis. Drying energon blood rimmed the cracks and slits, casting an almost dead look to the Seeker who was in actuality merely recharging. He would have to help cleaned the stains, he supposed – the longer left there, the more stubborn they became to cleansing. Perhaps he should do the entire dirtied walls and floor too since he was quite positive that no Autobot would be willing to do such tedious chores – and for the benefits of Starscream, none the less. However, how gory the scenery and the mech who caused it seemed to him, Skyfire perceived the lack of severity in the current situations. Recharging, the Decepticon's systems would set to work immediately, defragmenting corrupted files and deleting glitches that led Starsream to this insanity. By the time he broke his recharge cycle a few joors from now, the jet-former would be himself again, functional at his optimum level and perhaps ready for a few verbal bouts with whoever Autobots in the vicinity. No, it was not exactly Starscream that he was worried about – he himself had led the Seeker out of similar predicaments a few times before. This one was the worst, perhaps triggered by the constant thought of being a captive by the enemies and having himself stripped of the mastery over the sky, but it was still the same procedure to recovery. He cared for Starscream's well-being, there was no argument there, but it had not been a paramount concern of his.

What did bother him, though, was the thought of Ratchet. He was now safe under the care of his two good friends which was a relief – but oh, the horror he felt when he entered the brig felt much too overwhelming for his restraint. His Spark constricted with grief at the predicament the CMO had gone through – and somehow, Skyfire felt as if it was he to be blamed for this. His stroking on Starscream's helm continued, further lulling the Seeker into the oblivion of recharge. His faceplates wore an expression of perfect bliss, free for now from the chains of burdens the reality would bind him with the astrosecond his recharge session was ended.

"Starscream..."

But it was Ratchet who was playing in Skyfire's processors.


	11. Chapter 11

Ironhide had long been gone and Wheeljack was accompanying Ratchet singly in the refuel hall when his comm. link beeped an alert signalling an attempted connection. The signal that came with it was subtle yet persistent – traits that were all too similar to Skyfire's very person, verifying it to be coming from said flyer. According to the procedure, it was required of him to state his designation first whenever a communication link was established but the time of formality was not now, not when Ratchet was still struggling to calm himself down after the terrifying ordeal.

::Skyfire, what is it?::

::Wheeljack, where are you? Ratchet's not in the med-bay! Is he alright?::

::We're in refuel hall – Ratchet wants a cube of energon or two; my quick scan told me that he's quite under-energized.::

It was an astonishing feat on the medic's part to come online this quickly and without permanent harm done, whether physically and mentally, even after being strangulated by a crazy Seeker just now. Any normal mech would have required a good deal more than just a few calming gulps of energon but it seemed that Ratchet compensated well enough, given for the fear factors he had to experience with Starscream. Skyfire was perhaps unconvinced of the medic's capacity to recover, judging by the slightly breathy reply of fear he gave in return – that, or his instinctive drive was fishing out his unnecessary anxiety even though he probably knew of Ratchet's ensured safety.

::Wait for me – I'm coming right away.::

Wheeljack wanted to tell the shuttle that his presence, while would surely be a massive relief for Ratchet, was not severely needed, and that if he was exhausted he could just go to his chamber for his recharge session – but the idea was discarded straight away. It was not one of his most famous characteristics, but when Skyfire's CPU was set it was hard to shake his determination off, if that was even possible. Furthermore, before he was allowed the time span to say so even if he wanted to, the comm. link went dead as the shuttle-former severed the line in his rush to verify Wheeljack's claim.

True enough, not more than a klik later, the giant shuttle walked in through the hall's entrance; his steps were light and easy, but the whirs of cooling fans faintly audible in the silence of the refuel hall suggested the Lancia-former that Skyfire had been running all the way from the med-bay to this place. Ratchet, still weak and dazed from his latest predicament, looked up upon hearing the shuttle's arrival and offered a quick why-don't-you-tell-me-he's-coming look at Wheeljack, who shrugged it off easily.

"There you are," Skyfire's voice was ragged-sounding and a little lower than usual, further affirming Wheeljack's earlier hypothesis to explain the shuttle's quick coming. "I'm so worried when I couldn't find you in the med-bay."

"I would've sent him to the med-bay, believe me, but Ratchet woke up halfway and insisted that he's fine – so I thought there's really no harm done to get him to refuel first," behind his face-mask, Wheeljack's grin was almost wide enough to split his faceplates into two halves – had their places were swapped, Ratchet would never tolerate a refuel first before he had done a thorough check-up on his patient. As it was, the medic was the victim this time – and he would just have to be grateful that Wheeljack had not taken to the extent of dragging the CMO back into the med-bay.

Skyfire's tightly-drawn wings were relaxed upon receiving Wheeljack's explanation – his relief was announced via the gush of air rushing out of his pectoral vents. The shuttle-former's softly glowing optics were beacons of his emotions right now – he was not one who received the physical pain as Ratchet did, but his intense fear seemed to leave him just as miserable. It was spoken even in his steps as he made to approach the both of them, which were unenergetic and seemed to be dragging a little. His optics glanced momentarily in Wheeljack's direction, within them an unspoken gratitude for getting Ratchet to safety and staying at his side when others could not, before his gaze was transferred to the mech in question.

It was then Wheeljack knew that his presence was not required.

"So," the Lancia-former began, his processors actively simulating the best way to extract himself from these two, "Guess I better getting along now. I think I've left my disposal incinerator turned on."

The claim was admittedly not very convincing – Skyfire's optic ridge shot up in bewilderment upon hearing it, perhaps remembering that said machine was not in use throughout the orn at all, let alone to be left switched on – but the validity of it was unimportant for it had achieved its purpose. He did not look at Ratchet when he said this, but he could imagine well of the CMO's surprise-brightened optics and the mouth-components opening slightly to voice out a protest that would not come out. Before either of them could question further, Wheeljack vacated his seat and walked up to the still-puzzled flyer, a servo was draped on the other's as if requesting for confirmation.

"Look Ratch out for me, will you?"

Skyfire's puzzlement lasted for a nanoklik before he managed a subtle nod and a reply, "I will. Don't worry."

From his seat, Ratchet watched the altercation between Skyfire and Wheeljack with a great sense of foreboding; the Chief Medic could almost swore that the Lancia-former was a masochist from the way he seemed to enjoy putting Ratchet in awkward situations. In the past, Ratchet's control of his emotions was so firm that many Autobots had begun to grow a widely-accepted theory that he had a glitch in his systems which made him incapable of feeling (which usually resulted in the speaker getting a good whooping on the helm by Ratchet's favourite wrench). But he was no emotionless mech, and Wheeljack knew this as well. Which was why he could not help from mentally cursing the Autobot inventor for leaving him alone with the shuttle when he already acknowledged the discomfort his action would cause.

Wheeljack's head-fins flashed in what Ratchet would like to believe as amusement as he turned to look him in the optics, apparently confident that having Skyfire as Ratchet's companion would make things better before he left the refuel hall. The CMO had about two nanokliks to further scold his friend mentally for leaving him in such situations before Skyfire's huge frame was lowered onto a seat next to his own and banished all thoughts of Wheeljack from his CPU. His gaze was unfaltering, which was a major source of awkwardness in the first place, but the way his searching optics seemed to penetrate right into his laser core amplified it to a whole new level. In his effort to break the yawning silence, Ratchet opened his mouth to say something, anything at all, but was spared from the need to do so when Skyfire himself spoke –

"You scared me."

It was a simple statement but within it a thousand more silent words were spoken; of his concern, of his fear, of his _guilt_. And it affected the Chief Medic deeply, knowing all of this had been – partially – spawned by his recklessness.

"I have no choice," he said simply; reduced by the overwhelming intensity of the shuttle's emotions, there was nothing but truth that he could tell. "Starscream was endangering himself; if I hadn't step in, who knows what would have become of him!"

Skyfire seemed intent to counter his statement before choosing to not to at the very last astrosecond; his then-opened mouth was now closed tightly, as if struggling with himself to not prolong the argument and possibly worsen the situations. His intakes sighed out a gust of warm air when finally replied, "Ratchet...I know well that a medic is compelled to help his patients as best as he could but please refrain yourself from doing something like that again."

"I'm a not a helpless vornling; I can take care of myself," the medic answered though his tone lacked anger that should have accompanied such reply.

"Of course. But you're not invincible." So saying, one of Skyfire's servos reached out towards the Chief Medic, seemingly in an attempt to grasp at the other's head, causing Ratchet to flinch and almost knocking the half-finished energon cube before him.

"What –"

"Please, don't move."

It was not an order that the Autobot flyer gave, but a request – one that Ratchet had no will to deny when Skyfire was showing such tenderness. As he made to touch the medic's chin-guard, Ratchet ceased avoiding the shuttle's physical contact, feeling the other's digits slipped under his head, tilting his helm up slightly in the process and down to the side of his neck-cabling where residual soreness from Starscream's abuses still lingered. That section of his chassis throbbed with pain and numbness but the shuttle-former was so gentle with his ministrations that he felt nothing but warmth and comfort while Skyfire's digits continued their careful trailing along the length of the damaged cables.

"It's nothing severe. My self-repair systems will fix it in just a few joors," Ratchet managed to say, realizing that Skyfire was, in fact, examining the extent of damages being done to him in the encounter with Starscream.

"Thank Primus." But Skyfire did not withdraw his servo until he deemed the damages as mild as Ratchet had claimed it to be.

As their metals parted, Ratchet again felt that sinful longing to lengthen their contacts but managed to refrain himself from acting stupidly. Reflexively, his own servos crept up to the spot massaged earlier by the larger mech's digits, the heat from his touch remained there for a few more astroseconds before vanishing; it had felt so comfortable, so very pleasurable, when those large fingers ran along the neck-cables and wires, causing his pain to go away and replacing it with sensations that he hoped to remain there forever...

"Where is Ironhide, anyway? I remember asking him to escort Wheeljack..." Skyfire asked suddenly, apparently only now having the processor-capacity to register the old warrior's absence.

"Well, he left shortly after I onlined; something about finishing his reports concerning tonight's accident." Ratchet's amusement was poorly hidden; it was a well-known fact that Ironhide hated report-datapads with as much vehemence as he did Decepticons. Perhaps even more so since he could not simply destroy the need to write reports by blasting it off with his Pulse cannons.

"In that case, I just can wish him the best of luck," and the shuttle let loose another quiet chuckles which in turn fished out one from the CMO. The mirth did not linger long however; once their voices ceased a momentary pause filled the vast hall – to Ratchet it was as if the Ark was suddenly deserted, a lonely place where none made their home here...until the larger mech once again spoke:

"I'm really sorry for what happened. I should have gone to you sooner."

There was really not much to reply to such statements so Ratchet opted for the simplest one that came to his CPU. "It's not your fault; it couldn't be helped. Anyway, I'm still functioning so there's really no damage done."

"Still, knowing you, I should've known better that you will stop at nothing to help, even though he is a Decepticon." Regret was strong in his voice but the medic's assurance had brought relief creeping back in into his features. "And I apologize too for Starscream's treatments to you. He is not exactly right in his CPU back then..."

Something clicked into Ratchet's processors at the mention of Starscream. Totally forgetting his own conditions now, the Chief Medic turned to regard Skyfire fully and inquired, "Skyfire, tell me something; I've recognized the signs of panic attack when I see one but never have I seen that severe. Why is that?"

Something akin to longing crossed Skyfire's faceplates, rendering his normally calm expression sorrowful – the smile that he offered to Ratchet was not born out of any happiness whatsoever for the bitterness it was composed of was plain and hardly unnoticeable. With a tired exhalation through his oral passage, the shuttle began, "All flyers are naturally Sparked with the affinity for the skies...freedom to fly is our greatest treasure, one that we cannot function without. That includes me, though it applies the strongest to the Seekers and Starscream is one of them. He is...the most natural flyers I've ever seen in my activation cycle – it is not surprising that captivity could have impacted him so much. That he is captured by the enemy faction must have been a large contributor to his depression. It is amazing that he manages to keep himself composed this long; I'm doubtful that others will manage to go through more than two orns without flying at all. To be deactivated while being confined to the ground is the worst fate that any of us could have received."

Ratchet listened attentively while observing the subtle body languages that Skyfire made throughout his explanation; again, his wings were natural indicators of his emotions, raising up slightly on his back as he continued speaking; the blue in his optics dimmed as if he was about to enter stasis, but it was not so. The heaviness of his mood weighed in his Spark so much that his physiques acted as if he was in peril. Knowing that Skyfire too suffered alongside Starscream by merely acknowledging that the one he cared for was in misery, Ratchet was compelled to ease them somehow, and in current happenstances, there was one thing that he was capable of.

"Skyfire, I think we should install the wings to Starscream as soon as we can."

He spoke them without really thinking, but even as he realized that his vocalizer had spilled them out loud, he knew that it was the right thing to do. Skyfire's helm jerked up in shock at the suddenness of it all to stare disbelievingly into the CMO's optics. An emotional storm was brewing within those calculative CPU, debating whether it would be a disgrace to agree to it when the medic had gone through so much already.

"But Ratchet...you are still not recovered –"

"– I will by the next morning. I have quite an efficient repair protocols, you know." He smiled, pointing towards the damaged part of his neck-cabling and massaging it up and down in emphasis of his point.

But Skyfire merely shook his helm and countered, "Ratchet...it's all too sudden. You have to think about yourself first and Starscream can definitely wait a few more orns bef–"

The huge flyer was stopped mid-word when Ratchet leaned in towards him and put a red servo upon the other's larger one, the digits squeezing them a little in silent assurance. The puzzlement was evident on Skyfire's faceplates but he remained politely quiet while waiting for Ratchet to have his say. And say he did.

"Skyfire, if this madness is the result of his winglessness and his imprisonment, then we have to make it lesser by doing all we can. I cannot free him, but I can definitely give back his wings. I speak this as a medic who has vowed to help those in need in every way that he was able to." _And a friend who wished to see his loved one eased of his worry_, his CPU continued but without the intention to make it known to the other. He could never let it to be so.

"Are you sure? It will be a long and tiring operation..." His servo came to rest atop Ratchet's which was already resting on Skyfire's other hand, searching for confirmation. It was obvious that the thought of making the Seeker whole again was too appealing to be denied, but his concern for Ratchet's well-being at least soothed the medic to a considerable measure.

"I've gone through worse and still managed just as complex operations. I am a Chief Medical Officer NOT because of nothing."

Skyfire's inner debate continued for a few more nanokliks before he finally relented with another tired exhalation. "...Very well. But please, do it only if you feel you are well enough."

"Don't you worry about me, Skyfire. I'll manage it just fine."

The Autobot flyer seemed to give up arguing altogether when he saw the unwavering medic's determination glowing in Ratchet's optics. While it was rather annoying that Skyfire had so little faith in his capability (or maybe it was just unreasonable worry, but it still had the same effect nonetheless), his meticulous concern for his well-being was Sparkwarming enough that whatever negativity the shuttle had accumulated in the CMO's systems was easily ignored. He could only wish in the deepest recess of his Spark that Skyfire's care was born out of more than comradeship care, knowing all the while that it was probably far from the truth.

_**XxXx**_

Lord Megatron hated it when his recharge session was disturbed. However, he had no one to unleash his anger upon, realizing that the source of it came from within his own cranial plating. It happened late into the Earth's dark cycle – he was already deep into his power-down mode by then – when again the memory drive throbbed in its nest, causing the gun-former to break his recharge with a start and putting his systems into alert mode. His first reaction was to complete the connection to Starscream's meta-processors before he remembered his own determination to not do so – Nothing good had ever been spawned every time he delved into the distant jet's mind. In fact, every time he did so, Megatron was tortured as the harsh reality came crashing down upon him, reminding him that Starscream was not at his side, that he was captured and detained beyond his reach. As orns passed, he came to despise the Pit-cursed memory drive more and more for it had became a nuisance rather than a useful tool of which he could used in asserting dominance over Starscream; What dominance there was to prove when his target was megamiles away from his person?

Megatron sat on the edge of his berth with his faceplates buried in his metal palms, wishing that the discomfort would leave him alone soon or his living quarters would be undergoing some serious makeover with his Fusion Cannon. The allure for connection was overwhelming, he had to admit, and his determination had almost completely crumbled when the pulsations gradually faded into nothingness. The memory drive once again settled into dormancy for Primus knows for how much longer, but at least Megatron had successfully fought the urge for connection for one more time. He celebrated it with a relieved cycle of air through his intakes while his cooling fans clicked to life, working to lower his core temperature into its normal range. It took a while before the internal alerts of _Warning! System overheating_ flashing before his optics to go away and his systems resumed the relaxed state they were in before the memory drive came into interference – that was, until a second disturbance shattered any hope of resuming his incomplete recharge session at all.

The sun still had a long way before it came out of the horizon when Soundwave beeped Megatron's comm. link, requesting for a connection. While the act itself would have left the Decepticon Supreme Commander bemused, the fact that the Communication Expert had the nerve clusters to actually asked him to meet in the Command Centre this early would have guaranteed painful deactivation after orns of torture, except that the purpose of such daring actions had concerned the rescue plan that Megatron's servos had been itching to execute, as Soundwave had quickly informed once Megatron had demanded for explanation:

::Reason for contact: Requesting for Lord Megatron's presence in the Command Centre. Additional information available on Starscream's condition.::

Although Megatron could have easily denied the request and postponed it to times when he felt like it, the Decepticon leader was also intrigued by the possible connection between the sudden activation of the memory drive and Soundwave's claim on Starscream's situation, although both events differed in its occurrence by the span of a couple of joors or so. He rather had it delivered to him by the trusted lieutenant compared to the unreliable gadget. Besides, any new intelligence would be critical and highly useful at this point – and so it was that the Decepticon overlord grudgingly started his orn a few joors earlier than his normal schedule and went off towards the heart of Nemesis for the unexpected meeting with his lieutenant, not bothering to keep his muttered curses to himself. His solid pedes clanked loudly in the empty corridors, but even that was not enough to mask the sound of his displeasure.

The Command Centre was expectedly empty when Megatron entered it save for a lone navy-and-white figure sitting on one of the chairs before the main computer console. His Casetticons were not with him, either they were all in his chamber or were dormant in their cassette-modes in Soundwave's chest cavity. His back was turned towards the entrance and yet Soundwave perceived his leader's arrival without trouble at all even if he was without his telepathy – Megatron's steps and vocalizations were all too obvious for even the most insensitive audios to NOT detect. He proceeded towards the still-sitting Soundwave to stand right at his left – subtly brushing the end of his cannon's barrel in a silent threat to make this rendezvous profitable enough to earn his early attention in the process. The silver mech could not tell if his subordinate had reacted physically to his warning but Megatron was fairly sure that the message did sink in – after all, Soundwave of all mechs should have known that his wrath knew no bound, and that it could crash upon absolutely anyone.

"Make it worth my time, Soundwave," Megatron grumbled, shifting his other arm to his hip-plating. The cannon arm remained behind Soundwave's chair; while he had no real intention of using it even if Soundwave's report was proven unsatisfying – his fists and pedes could execute pain well enough – it served as a reminder for the deputy-SIC to keep his performance to the leader's expectation.

Soundwave's backstrut straightened a little before speaking in that usual expressionless tone, "Intelligence report: Starscream has shown sign of extreme distress. Possible outcome: Irreversible CPU and personality meltdown."

That was, to simply put it, unexpected. Megatron had been so used to seeing Starscream damaged to the point he was hardly recognizable as a Seeker, mostly due to the leader's own doings, that the jet-former could meet his end from mere depression was a rather strange idea to the warlord. Refusing to believe the peculiar concept, Megatron grounded out, "And what is the basis for your theory, Soundwave?"

The cassette-deck did not vocally answer the question; instead, he chose one of the already saved memory files from the spy-nanobot and chose a particular recording; the whole view played on the huge screen before them, showing a completely uninteresting cell which was the current resident place of Starscream. Since said nanobot was minute, the angle was quite awkward from both Transformers for it was as if they were looking at an environment more gigantic than what they were used to but Starscream was still clearly visible in the recording; the wingless Seeker was recharging like the rest of the Ark, judging by the level of quietness – in short, it was a totally boring video that Soundwave was showing him.

"Well? I don't see any –" but he was stopped from ranting further when Starscream suddenly woke up, his whole chassis faintly shivering even in the darkened surrounding. Even though the lighting was poor, the Decepticon leader could still make out the droplets of condensations trickling out the jet-former's chassis. His faceplates were full of confusion – and when a look of understanding finally dawned upon him, it was the moment when everything went absolutely _wrong_.

It started slow and relatively harmless, with a nervous-looking Starscream constantly shifting himself as if attempting to find comfort in the cell, but the scenario gradually grew darker. His slow rocking on his aft increased in speed, his expression becoming more and more desperate – from the vocalizer, out came a whiny tone that Megatron was so used to hear only this time, there was no satisfaction for the warlord to hear it. Starscream's mumbling might have been completely unintelligible for all that Megatron could hear, but he could not give a slag about it. It was the fact that the he was a helpless watcher consumed his systems and emotions so thoroughly that it took all of his willpower not to smash the screen that displayed such painful view. Never had he seen the jet acted in such manners throughout his time in the captivity under Megatron's orders and it _bothered_ him.

Megatron steeled himself to follow the proceedings – and suffered his inability to interfere greatly all the while watching Starscream descending further and further into madness; watched as the Autobot medic came running from the outside at the sound of his scream; watched as the Seeker succumbed to his imagined enemies and crushed the Autobot's neck-cabling until he was forced into emergency stasis. Nanokliks later, perhaps alerted similarly by the Decepticon's screams – or it could be that the medic managed to call for reinforcement after all before he was offlined – another party of Autobots arrived, consisting of that annoying old warrior Ironhide, the mad inventor Wheeljack and –

_CRASH!_

It was a move driven by his emotions and not his logic circuits; so suddenly did it happened that Soundwave had barely the time to flinch to the side in avoiding Megatron's heavy fist which landed upon the unfortunate computer console, damaging the underlying circuitries and promptly shutting the screen off. The cassette-player missed physical damages by mere inches – and even though the warlord's intended target was the computer boards before him, Megatron would not regret it if he had harmed the communication officer in the process, especially when he was completely consumed by his animalistic rage. His balled servo punched a hole right through the metal surface, electric sparks spitting out from severed wires crackled around his digits like miniature firecrackers. The silver mech's engine was revving hard from the instant his optics caught on the glimpse of Skyfire in the nanobot's video recording and was still so now – his jealousy radiated out like and inferno, consuming both its source and other persons that it touched. Silence enveloped the Command Centre like a disease as the Decepticon Supreme Commander struggled to bring himself under control, Soundwave waiting patiently and not without fear at his side.

"Soundwave." Megatron called out eventually after kliks of stillness. His fist withdrew from the point of impact, digits flexing to test for their functionalities, which were unaffected at all even after absorbing such heavy blows.

"Lord Megatron?" He acknowledged; his Vocal Modulator filtered out any trace of feelings from showing in his tone but there was no doubt of the cassette-player's worry of his safety to be in striking range of an enraged dictator.

"Any suggestion to our cause of action?" Had he been given the choice and ignored the warnings from his logic circuits, Megatron would have just slagged any suggestion that Soundwave might had and went off to the Ark as fast as he could. As it was, Megatron was not a totally reckless dictator – quite the opposite, in fact, which was why he took the pains to rein in his rage and turned to the deputy-SIC for advices.

"...Suggestion: Inform Starscream of our rescue plan. Reason: To prepare Starscream for our advances and act accordingly. Suggestion: Continue surveillance. Observe the Autobots for measures taken in countering similar accidents. Reason: Information may be crucial in determining the success of the rescue mission."

"And do we have any rescue plan at all actually?" Amazingly, Megatron did manage to restrain himself from roaring out loud – and most likely waking up half of the Nemesis from its volume alone – but the words came out muffled as they were forced through clenched dentas.

"Status: Rough draft finished. Refinement necessary before the plan's execution. Estimated time of completion: 35 joors."

Other than the _thirty-five joors_ part, Megatron was not particularly listening; He acknowledged the importance of nitty-gritty details when it came to planning but that did not mean that he could sit well with them – which was why he had Soundwave to process it all for him. However, hearing that such an extended period was needed before the rescue could be carried out...well, it did brought him some measure of anger of which he was struggling to control. It did not exceed the two-orn deadline that he had previously set up, but circumstances had changed now and this newest revelation of the jet's situation made him restless. Trusting that Soundwave had his reasons for putting up such a long waiting time was hard when his processors kept replaying the view of Skyfire (the other three did not matter at all for all that Megatron was concerned with) rushing into the brig idea. Associate it with the previous memories of him embracing Starscream...well, it was virtually impossible to keep his jealousy in check.

But he had to wait. _Must, _even. Never once did Soundwave momentously failed in his missions. There was no reason for the Communication Expert would disappoint him this time.

"Do whatever it takes, Soundwave. Just make sure that it is done in time."

So saying, Megatron _left_.

It was not his habit to leave so abruptly or before he received a confirmation in return but the longer Megatron stared at the non-functioning screen, the more he was reminded of Skyfire. His hatred for the traitorous shuttle had reached a new height – this was not a question of loyalty anymore but of more...sensitive matters. Just as he had tried to recruit the initially neutral mech into his faction, so too that Skyfire could be just as well working to convert Starscream into an Autobot even as he waited for Soundwave to perfect the rescue plan that they together had so painstakingly came up with. While knowing the personality of Starscream made it unlikely for that to happen, the possibilities exist nevertheless.

The throbbing that Megatron felt now was not memory-drive induced, but Pit did it hurt just the same. There was just so much that a Transformer could process at a time no matter how efficient one's CPU was at multitasking that Megatron decided that the best thing that he could do was to let the mental cyclone that were his emotions settle down first before he could do anything. Recharge was out of the question now with his processors now bursting with activities but at least it would be quiet in his living quarters. Perhaps...he could get his serenity faster if there were high-grades to help him with that.

Elated at the prospect of intoxicating oblivion that waited in his chamber, Megatron's steps grew quicker as he traversed the length of the hallways, his pede-steps sounded unnaturally loud in the mech-empty space.

_**xxxxx**_

Skywarp had not expected that his dawn-time wanderings would bring to him this interesting sight of Megatron stomping off from the Command Centre. It was a miracle that he, of all mechs, were up and running at such early joors – but it was nothing more due to the elusiveness of recharge. He had no particular place to go when he decided that roaming the Nemesis would do him more good than tossing vainly in his berth – and thus, fate sealed his audios into hearing the sound of Megatron's punch destroying the Nemesis's computer console (though he had no idea what the sound was back then). The purple jet-former had been intrigued by the out-of-place noise and decided to investigate despite his initial fear of the consequences if he did. Of course, Skywarp still had no idea what it was that inspired such violence on the gun-former's part when he noticed what damages he had inflicted from whatever emotions that motivated him and was curious to also notice that no one was with him save for Soundwave – but the Communication Expert had always been a favoured soldier of Megatron that he could not recall of the silver mech ever treating Soundwave with aggression.

Immersed in various theories of what was happening – and a majority of them was downright ridiculous – Skywarp's survival instinct still worked when he realized that the ex-gladiator was leaving the place, triggering the flee response in his circuitries, just in case. His warp-gate projector was instantly activated and he vanished into it only nanokliks earlier of Megatron's exit from the Command Centre, appearing rather randomly in – Thundercracker's living quarters, of all possible places in the Nemesis.

"Oh, slag, what in the Pit – _Skywarp_!" Thundercracker yelled in surprise as his purple-and-black trinemate appeared out of nowhere to land on his working table, looking rather ridiculous with him falling on all fours upon emergence.

"Eh –heh...Sorry about that TC," he replied sheepishly as he slid off the table – and inevitably scattered all the neatly-arranged datapads nearby in the process, realizing it only after the last of them had clattered down on the floor. "Oops, sorry about _that _too."

Thundercracker couldn't help the face-palming but at least his temper was still in control. "Never mind that. The question is, _why are you teleporting into my room- and on my _table_, not least of it_?"

Skywarp swept all the dropped datapads into his arms with one swing of his servo and lumped them all unceremoniously upon Thundercracker's table – earning him a tired sigh from the blue-white jet-former – while he answered, seemingly unperturbed by the trouble he caused his trinemate, "Well, I was running away from 'ol Megs and I had no –"

"Whoa, wait! You're running away from _Megatron_? What the Pit did you do? Don't tell me that you're doing anything stupid out there!"

"Not me!" Skywarp exclaimed dignifiedly, pretending a look of hurt at the accusation. "It's Soundwave – Well, I _think _it was Soundwave, he's the only one I could see there – and anyway, Megatron was getting out so I'll just Warp myself to wherever it wanted to take me...and here I am."

Thundercracker was losing track of Skywarp's explanations completely right after he mentioned Soundwave. Like Skywarp, he too was perceiving the peculiarity of the situations – that their leader was possibly being angered by his treasured communication officer.

"Soundwave? But that can't be. Megatron will blow off Cybertron first before getting angry with Soundwave," Thundercracker replied, all troubles that Skywarp's teleporting had caused instantly forgotten by now.

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. Thought I heard them saying Starscream's name a few times too, but hey, I might be wrong."

The older Seeker was shocked into standing up at this. "What? Starscream? Are you sure?"

Skywarp loosely lifted his shoulder-struts in a manner akin to shrugging and answered lazily, "Well, I'm sure – but then again, you said before that I tend to hear things that aren't really there."

However, Thundercracker seemed to be lost in his thoughts, his faceplates had a look of dreaminess that Skywarp could always associate with his CPU busily processing newly-received information and matching it with older one. An astrosecond later, he broke his trance but still had a trace of his earlier expression, "No, I think you heard it right this time. Can't you feel it, 'Warp?"

"Feel what?" But even as he questioned it, Skywarp was immediately reminded of the strange sensations that assaulted his systems just a few joors before, that which had been the reason that he was wide awake. It was a subtle feeling but constant at the same time, a kind of...uneasiness that were strangely both distant and yet a part of him. In the confusion of post-recharge haze and later, the emergency need to get as far away as he could from the Command Centre, he completely forgot it. Mentioned by Thundercracker just now, he realized that it came to him via the Seeker bond.

"Starscream?"

"I'm not in distress so, who else?"

The bond forged between the trine-Seekers were weaker compared to the ones shared by bondmates or twins, but they still allowed a measure of insights into the trinemembers' conditions. For the most part, it served to inform the Seekers of each others' condition in the form of hard facts and statistics, but when the members were trine for so long, as in the case of Starscream-Thundercracker-Skywarp trine which had been assembled from even before they were recruited into the Decepticon ranks, the information sent became more detailed and specific. Their level of intimacy was such that their emotions, though only the most intensely felt, could be perceived by the trine-units. In this regard, they could be proud of because only few enough trines that the Seeker ethnic ever formed that were as close as theirs.

"That can't be good, can it?" Skywarp asked nervously. He was never as good as processing information as Thundercracker did, least of all that which concerned feelings, but he knew enough the severity of Starscream's conditions when its strength was enough to enable it being conveyed through the bonds they shared.

"No," the blue jet-former agreed, a trace of uneasiness colouring both his voice and the slight fluttering of his wings. "I wonder what has happened to him. I wish we could ask Megatron – or Soundwave – but that isn't going to work."

The other's optics lit up suddenly at this; his face adopted a rather sinister expression that Thundercracker had always feared, knowing that only trouble would follow when he had that not-so-innocent look on his face. "Hey – that's an idea, TC!"

"What? What _idea_? I haven't given you any slagging idea –"

But Skywarp did not give any heed whatsoever to his trinemate's frantic denials; instead, he reached out a purple servo towards one of Thundercracker's, digits closing upon it with vice-like grips. In that nanoklik, Thundercracker knew what was going to happen as a familiar humming filled the air in his living quarters and yelled instinctively:

"No, 'Warp! I don't like it! Don't force me tooo –"

" – oooo teleport with you...!"

Thundercracker abruptly shut off his vocalizer when his audios detected that the volume of his voice increased a few times than it should be – and the echoes it caused were also more numerous than were usually resulted if he were back in his living quarters. His servo was still a captive of Skywarp's, but the digits had relaxed the pressure to resemble more of a casual hold instead of forceful pulling.

Onlining his optics (Thundercracker did not even realize when he had shut them down; it had been an ingrained reaction whenever he sensed that a teleportation was forthcoming), Thundercracker was met with a view of the Command Centre instead of the smaller area of his chamber. The uncomfortable lurching of his fuel-tank characteristic every time he undergone Warping was pushed to the back of his cranial plating when he realized that Skywarp had indeed did what he was afraid of him doing and Soundwave was still in there – which meant that things could still go even worse than this if –

"Soundwave! Hey, Soundy!"

– there goes his hope of ever saving Skywarp's grace from entering a downright spiral to the bottom. Of all Nemesis, only Skywarp was tactless enough to have given the Communication Expert a nickname to go by (others had done so too, but only in the safe confines of their respective chambers) but Skywarp...Thundercracker really had no appropriate response to this but a regretful face-palming, all the while thinking _I couldn't stop him in time_ as hard as he could in the hope that Soundwave's telepathy would pick up on it and accepted the indirect apology.

Soundwave reacted to the call of his name (both the formal and the not-quite-formal one) as much as he did to the sudden realization of both flyers' presences in the Command Centre by swirling his seat around to face the newly-arrived Seekers. They could not tell whether the cassette-player was offended or not but he neither looked bent on violent intentions from the way he remained motionless on his seat, orange visor glowing at its usual brightness in the relative darkness of the area compared to the hallways outside it, indicating no appreciable difference in the changes of his emotions. Thundercracker assumed that his mental apology worked after all – or that Soundwave merely adapted to Skywarp's brashness as he himself had done.

To the surprise of them both, Soundwave spoke, "Presences of Thundercracker and Skywarp necessary."

The Seekers had a nanoklik to spare which they used to stare puzzlingly at each other before obediently making their way towards the deputy-SIC, wondering what in the Pit did that cassette-deck had in his wrapped CPU. Before either of them could have questioned, though, Soundwave himself explained, "Current situations of Starscream discovered. Irreversible degradation of personality: imminent. Cause: Extreme distress due to captivity. Counter-measure: Attempting connection with Starscream to delay negative effects until the rescue is carried out."

"...and you need us because...?" This came from Thundercracker even though he had a pretty good idea why he had called them.

"Communication with trinemates may have positive feedbacks from Starscream," he answered, thus affirming Thundercracker's earlier assumptions. Although he and Skywarp had pretended to the best of their abilities that they were not as close as they really were, to Soundwave there was no hiding it. His telepathy reached right through their facades and discovered their brotherly intimacy the orn they were accepted into the Decepticon faction – though he had never broken their cover to the other Decepticons, perhaps acknowledging the importance of not showing too much tenderness when you were supposed to be Megatron's ruthless soldiers.

Skywarp nearly bounced on his thruster-heels from the glee he was experiencing; they had to concede that prolonged absence of their trineleader had taken its toll on both of them that the notion of being in contact again with Starscream cheered them up a bit. Not to mention Starscream himself; knowing that he had not yet been abandoned by his comrades should bring a light into his gloomy world and hopefully lifted whatever depression that was weighing on him. They did not even need to agree beforehand, their replies coming out in unison, "So what you'll have us do?"

**_xxxxx_**

"...Skyfire?"

But the shuttle was nowhere to be seen when Starscream's optics came slowly online. It was rather disheartening to wake up to only the remnants of the shuttle's soothing touches but he supposed it was unavoidable – staying with him throughout his recharge session would be suspicious to prying optics and the Autobots seemed to be good at poking their nasal structures where they did not belong. It didn't stop him from wishing, nevertheless.

Starscream refused to move from his lying-down position, wanting to be wrapped in the comfort of undisturbed rest. Throughout his recharge session, his systems had refreshed and rebooted so that he felt like his original self again, but there were slight numbness being registered from all around his chassis where his self-repair protocols could not successfully fix. He supposed there was nothing that he could do about it except to endure the discomfort in silence since Skyfire had taken care of most of it when he was recharging; he realized this when he brought his servo up to massage his pounding helm only to find that the self-inflicted wounds were completely devoid of energon blood that should have poured out from such wide cracks. Other parts of his chassis, sporting less dents and scratches than the plating on his head-part, were similarly clean – shiny, even. The purple mess of his energon blood was also gone from the walls and floor of his cell, certainly the works of Skyfire too.

His chronometer informed that a few joors had passed since he entered recharge and that it should be morning by now. In a few more breems, Autobot-guards would arrive and started their monotone duty of watching him. He supposed it would be extravagant of him to hope that Skyfire would be one of them, looking at the fact that he already had his turn recently. Well, at least he could enjoy a few bouts of arguments with whomever that were sent to guard him, preferably Ironhide. That old warrior amused him so much with his strange accent and his unrelenting nature and as such, could endure words-fighting longer than most mechs that ever had the bravery to start arguing with him in the first place. He was lost in the prospect of this when his scanner picked up...something from somewhere nearby.

It _felt _like a Decepticon's energy signature at the first analysis but the brig area was bereft from any Transformer whatsoever, let alone for members of his own faction. He was ready to discard the importance of the detection and blamed it on whatever glitches that were festering in his systems when the signal intensified – and noticed for the first time that in it was no personal attachment. An instant later, he realized where it came from, got up and looked down.

There it was, right at the base of his berth; a roughly circular drone the size of a human's toy-car, too small in relativity to Transformers' average size-ranges for the Autobots to notice its presence. Six spindly insect-like legs stuck out on either sides of it made it looked like a grotesque mimicry of a spider, but they also made its movements silent and undetectable. It scurried back and forth along the length of his berth, apparently trying to find a foothold for it to climb up to Starscream.

"_Spy-nanobot_," Starscream mumbled out in a whisper too low to be heard by other than himself. It explained perfectly the Decepticon-characteristic signal that had been pricking his scanner, that which also lacked the feel of personality to it – because it was not sentient, merely a mindless drone borne from Soundwave's ingenuity, with no Spark with which it could project out its personal signature like all living Cybertronians did. However, it did serve its purpose in contacting Starscream although said Seeker was deep within the heart of the Ark itself.

Starscream extended a servo down towards the drone and it leapt into the confines of his palm instantly. Its minuscule camera was pointed straight at his faceplates, relaying the images caught in its lenses back to the Nemesis for its controller – most probably Soundwave himself – to see. Before Starscream could decide what he was going to do with it, it began to scurry in his palm, seemingly in an attempt to make sense of which direction to go before going straight for his wrist. A very tiny chord slithered out of even tinier slot on its front; at the end of it was an adjustable plug whose purpose was already known to the Seeker. His comm. link might be severed by the Autobots, no doubt to ensure that he could not contact the Decepticons for reinforcements, but this little bot would enable him to do just that.

Elated at the prospect of hearing again familiar voices, Starscream retracted an almost imperceptible panel on his wrist to expose an outlet while lifting his nanobot-occupied servo towards the opened hole. It was connected directly to his communication systems, and into this the drone's minuscule chord plunged itself, the plug searching for compatibility with the port deep within it, found it, and connected itself to it.

His first sensation once it did was a sort of openness as if his comm. link was returned back to functionality though it was not so. The spy-nanobot merely acted as a stepping stone to reach the communication line of Nemesis; the moment it disconnected from his systems, Starscream would be alone again. But that would be for later to be worried about.

::Starscream to Nemesis, acknowledge.::

He was not physically speaking the words since the nanobot had allowed him to broadcast through it without needing to vocalize out loud, and he was similarly answered via the same drone that had enabled this temporary two-way transmission.

::Nemesis acknowledges. This is Soundwave.::

So, it _was_ that cassette-player who was behind it. It did not come as a surprise that Soundwave's voice replied to his call. What did surprise him was the news that he conveyed afterwards.

::Extending broadcast to include Skywarp and Thundercracker. Initializing transmission now.::

::Screamer! It's us!::

The other speaker was undoubtedly Skywarp, the carefree one of his trine. Nevertheless, surprise at the sound of the black-purple jet-former made him spluttered out:

::Skywarp?::

::Yeah, and TC's here too!::

There was a momentary silence, and then:

::Starscream...are you okay? We thought we felt that you're not feeling very well.::

Of course, with madness seizure that intense, it was just logical that his trinemates would be able to sense his discomfort. Starscream appreciated their concern, really, but making them worried about his condition would only worsen the situations – not to mention that he did not like being symphatized; it made him felt weak and underrated, so he said instead:

::I'm alright now. Just a little claustrophobia, that's all. It's gone now, though. Enough about me; how in the Pit did you get Soundwave to contact me?::

::Actually...it's the other way round. It's Soundwave who got us to contact you. Don't see any reason to say 'no' so we just got along with him.::

::Yeah, we just kinda follow what he told us to do.:: The addition was from Skywarp's, which, like many of his information, was merely repeated statements of the previous.

::And I don't suppose he wanted to be in contact with me because he missed me?:: Starscream replied, a little too sarcastically than he originally intended.

:: Err...no, I guess. But he did want you to know that a rescue plan is in order.::

Surprisingly, this news was not déjà vu information after all even though it was being conveyed by Skywarp but Starscream had no time to marvel at this small miracle. His focus was purely on the word 'rescue'.

::Wait – Megatron is going to order for a rescue mission? To rescue me? This is...a cosmic joke, right?::

It was Thundercracker who replied to his questions this time:

:: Well, he's definitely serious about rescuing you. We're not quite clear on the details yet, though. Anyway, watch out for us in two orns – at least, that's when it's going to happen, according to what Soundwave has told us.::

::But –::

Starscream was cut off, not by any sudden disturbance in their secured links, but rather by the distant _clank-clank-clank_ sounds of pedesteps. The volume of it suggested that whoever that made the sounds were still far enough away, perhaps in the corridors outside the brig area, but in a few astroseconds they wouldn't be.

_Frag, the guards are coming_ was Starscream's immediate thoughts. Who else would be coming to this despicable place this early? It took a nanoklik before he realized that he was still connected to the private link and realized the foolishness of maintaining it.

::Thundercracker, Skywarp, severe the connections. The Autobots are coming!::

::But we're talking to artificial comm. link – and the line is secured –::

::Yes, I know that, but I rather not take chances. Someone with ultra-sensitive scanner could still pick up on our transmission.:: He was reminded of the Autobot tracker, Hound, when he said these. The dark-green mech was a nuisance to the Decepticon's plan too many times already with his more-than-average perceptions, thanks to the high-tech scanner he was equipped with.

::Well, if you say –::

::QUICK!::

Starscream's vocalizer almost yelled along with his comm. speak as the urgency to disconnect mounted higher. There was no reply from the other side, only the crackles of statics to meet his waiting; Nemesis had severed its connection with Starscream. Suddenly, the openness that he enjoyed only a few astroseconds ago was ripped from him, physically made evident when he looked down and watched the spy-nanobot unplugged itself from Starscream's outlet, the chords retracting back into its tiny slot. The drone, having carried out its duty now, jumped off Starscream's outstretched palm, onto the surface of his berth and all the way down to the orange-tiled floor. It scampered off into a dark corner of his cell and vanished in its deep shadows, the Decepticon signature that it transmitted to announce its presence to Starscream earlier faded along with it. To Starscream, it felt like his lifeline was destroyed.

The incoming Autobots were entering the brig area by now for their pede-steps were no longer muffled by the walls, the hiss of opening door further declaring their arrivals. Now that the sense of loss was strong in his systems, he having been forced to cut short the conversations with his trinemates, the lone Seeker found that he lost the zest for arguments too so he contented himself to lie quietly back on his berth. He did not concern himself to look at the Autobots-of-the-day at all and let them had their peace, for this time.

Their chatters drifted to Starscream's audios from the other side of his cell, but still his interest was not fished. His processors were bent in the notion that the Decepticons would come for him. When that time came, he would be back in the Nemesis, back with the Decepticons, back with Thundercracker and Skywarp...at the price of separation from Skyfire. He had been parted from his old-time friend for so long, stellar cycles of remorse and sorrow that were painful to recollect, that he was not sure if he could survive it for another round now that he was reunited again with the shuttle. But he must go – his place was with the Decepticons, he was their Second and Air Commander, while Skyfire belonged to the Autobots.

Unless, of course, he could convince Skyfire otherwise before the time was up.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's note: Story for the long delay. My computer has been acting up and I lost the whole chapter._**

Take a look at the Autobot Mirage and the most prominent piece of him would be the missile launcher installed on his shoulder-piece. The weapon essentially shouted his capabilities as a sharpshooter, a formidable close-ranged fighter and, all in all, a mech to be feared when you happened to be his enemies – these were all true of him, of course, but there was one identity of him that was overlooked, unless his vocalizer came into play. One word, and the nasal-yet-cultured accent of a high-bred Cybertronian would make itself clear of his origin; for all his fighting abilities, Mirage was once a Noble. Among his high-class friends, he was perhaps the most flexible which accounted largely to his success in adapting to the ways of war, but a streak of vanity sown by his heritage was still clear in the optics of his Autobot comrades – he was the slowest of them all to embrace changes, especially if they were of degrading nature, such as transiting their battleground from Cybertron to Earth, where terrains were so much more of challenges from the former. In his F1-car mode, the difficulties were amplified tenfold as he ran over what rocks and dips there were in the ground when he failed to avoid them, making his chassis jumped up and down erratically throughout the uncomfortable travel.

"These...grounds...are really...not suited to...my Earth alt-form...!" Mirage commented through the bumpy ride, punctuated now and then whenever he cruised over particularly pronounced undulations on the ground.

At his side, matching the Ligier's speed with ease, was Hound. As a jeep, his suspension system was tuned so that he could traverse just this kind of surface without much trouble and so, faring far better than Mirage did. Sent on to scout thanks to Red Alert's paranoia, Hound had requested for specifically Mirage after Trailbreaker had done all he could when accompanying him on the previous mission. Both the Security Director and Prowl had granted his request, knowing that when it came to stealth, there was no replacing the sneaky Noble – and it might just as well when Hound had reported suspicious sightings of either Buzzsaw or Laserbeak, flying at altitude so high that it weren't for his ultra-sensitive scanner, those Decepticons could be missed altogether. After waiting for Mirage's arrival at a previously agreed-upon meeting point, together they had analyzed Buzzsaw's last known path to discern its destination since the mecha-bird's airborne speed was much higher than the Autobots' – and had immediately rushed towards the guessed area.

The problem was, the cassette-vultures were heading for the forested area of Oregon. And Mirage did not like it at all. The trail that they were using to get as far into the forest was only fit for 4-wheel-drive vehicles, not a race-car like himself.

"I know, but I have a feeling that I need your spying ability this time around!" Hound shouted to be heard over the roars of his engine and Mirage's.

Mirage offered a harrumph but nothing else; the Noble was not much of a grumbler although he might have a thousand and one discomforts assaulting his systems. He was also incredibly helpful, being somehow excepted from the general rule that Nobles were self-centred. The two were silent for a while, the only sounds coming from the creaks in their abused springs, before Hound spoke up, "Up there is a hill. Maybe we can take a rest at its base."

"By all means, please," Mirage replied, relieved that his friend had the insights to take such measures.

Flooring the throttle a notch more, his engine revved in response and forced his wheels to rotate faster, the back ones kicking up a cloud of dust in his trail. Hound did the same, though his dust-cloud was thinner – the treads in his tyres provided more grip than that was available to Mirage and so his wheel-spins were more effective at propelling him forward. At the speed that they were making, the small hill grew bigger fairly quickly, and not a breem and a half later, they had already reached its foot.

Mirage chose a large rock as his resting place. In his younger orns, he would be resting on fabric-padded berth with maids to cater to his every need, but that was a life so long ago it felt like mere dreams as he leaned back against the flatter surface of the rock, stretching slightly to ease his stiff joints. Hound came to sit beside him not long after he scanned the surroundings for signs of threats, namely, the Decepticons. There was none that his scanner could detect. Seeing that the jeep-former had allowed himself to relax, Mirage was further put to ease; there was almost no Transformer who could escape Hound's detection and the Noble trusted the tracker wholly – and it was not just in this aspect. Ironically enough, even though a little low on his affinity for the Earth, his best friend was essentially Hound the nature-lover, and the faith he had in Hound was that strong so as to allow him entrust the safety of his Spark to the other.

"Cheer up, 'Raj. It's not all bad here. Look around; it's a beautiful sight, isn't it?"

Mirage's optics were used more in evaluating riches and the significance of information than they did with natural scenery, but he did as was told nevertheless. Hound's fascination for this organic-teeming planet had always been a puzzle to the Noble, but then he had never been out much of the Ark, or had enough free time to just stop and stare around when he was on intelligence-gathering mission. He supposed it _was_ a beautiful planet after all; Cybertron was mostly silver-grey with metallic structures thrusting up here and there on its surface, where else Earth was so diverse with its ecosystems that it would took vorns for even someone as diligent as Perceptor or Beachcomber to study them.

Even in his opinion, who had always praised his home planet for its grandeur, Earth was an amazing place to be. "Yes, Hound. It is beautiful."

For some indiscernible reason, a small smile was tugging the corner of Hound's lip-components. "Now that's something. If a Noble was saying something is beautiful, it means a lot."

Mirage reached over to playfully swat at Hound's helm, who swiftly dodged the incoming servo without any difficulty, having anticipated such move from the Ligier. Quiet chuckles from both mechs' vocalizers followed suit, Hound's rough-sounding voice blending harmoniously with Mirage's richer, thicker one. Had they paid more attention, they would realize that forest creatures scurried off at the alien laughter that did not belong there, though some, out of simple curiousity, summoned just enough bravery to take a peek at the gigantic figures, one blue and the other green, before hurrying back into their hideouts, nursing their respective traumas at having encountered creatures even more weird-looking than humans.

"Why's the tantrum? You should be flattered!" Hound said, alternated by his laughter that seemed to refuse to subside.

"Flattered my carbon-fibre spoiler!" Mirage giggled along and managed to smack his companion on the side of his helm with half-Spark force. Hound endured the 'abuse' gladly, enjoying the Noble's rarely seen playfulness breaking through his rigid outer appearance.

It took a while before the mirth to dissipate completely; it was partly triggered upon realization how silent the forest had became that their laughter would carry easily if not for the sound-breaking pillars that were the trees surrounding them. Though they were on a mission, and that avoiding detection from the Decepticons was their utmost priority, it was hard to be remembered of such things when opportunities to let out some of the strains of the journey out presented themselves. However, once reality reasserted itself in their processors, almost instantly Mirage returned to his facade of an aloof, cool Autobot. It was more of an ingrained reaction, having been told to maintain his image as a respectable Noble by his parent-creators ever since he was Sparked into existence despite his struggle to become more amiable with the other Autobots.

Hound's optic ridges furrowed together into a frown at the sudden change in his companion's behaviours. "Humm...there you go again."

"What?" Mirage could not pretend that he was unconcerned by the slight note of disappointment in the other's statement.

"It's you. Returning to being that snobbish arrogant that isn't the real you. You should just let go of yourself sometimes, you know," he remarked – and then, much to Mirage's surprise, felt the tracker's dextrous digits poked at his white-plated side, where his sensors lay the closest to his hide's surface. His neural nets blazed with ticklishness upon contact, breaking out another melodious giggle from his vocalizer.

"H-hound!" he gasped through his hitched cycles, trying to squirm away from those mischievous digits and failing at it – The jeep-former was fast and stronger than Mirage was, pinning the Noble down with his body weight.

"Promise me that you'll stop being such a snooty and I'll stop," the green mech threatened, his digits lodging themselves into the fine seams on the other's metal skin to prevent him from escaping, miraculously keeping himself from being banged by the shoulder launcher throughout the struggling.

"I p-p-promise...!" Mirage almost wailed as he forced his vocalizer to override his uncontrollable giggles and spat the words out, optics becoming blurred by the droplets of cleansing fluid leaking out of the ducts. "Let m-me go...!"

Hound did, thankfully. Mirage was already at the edge of crying when the intense sensation stopped so abruptly, leaving him lying helplessly on the ground, gasping like a mech being deprived of the ability to cycle air through his systems. The jeep-former knew much too much about Mirage from inside out, both in the physical and emotional aspects, that he could easily use the information to his advantage like he had just demonstrated.

"Not fair..."Mirage mumbled sulkily but allowed himself to be repositioned by Hound so that his helm was in the jeep's lap, where he curled into himself as if trying to shield his more sensitive plating from further tortures.

"Your fault," Hound replied easily though without any trace of accusation; both knew that they were merely being playful with each other despite Mirage receiving the brunt of the mischievousness that their moods had sparked. Silence reigned afterward but the intimacy they felt brewing in their systems lingered, only now they resigned to merely observe their peaceful surroundings and blending into them instead of active interaction that they had just engaged in.

As if the universe could not suffer such tender moments to last long, Hound's scanner suddenly sent an alert to his internal warning system, informing him of a possible Decepticon presence. The freezing of his limbs as he verified the claim, although subtle, was noticeable to the Ligier. Though he did not know yet the cause, Mirage knew that it held importance if it was enough to snatch the tracker's attention when he was observing nature.

"What is it?" the Noble inquired as Hound activated his hologram projector, casting an illusion of grassy clearing in their immediate surroundings to camouflage their presence from prying optics.

"I think...we just hit a jackpot," and pointed his digit upwards.

Mirage glanced up – their visions were not affected by those inside the holographic shield, only to those who were outside it – and saw a speck of black in the otherwise clear blue sky. Zooming in on the object, it appeared to be a bird-shaped mechanoid flecked by yellows and blacks here and there, moving much too fast to be some organic birds-of-prey of which shape it roughly resembled. It was Buzzsaw. A Decepcticon reconnaissance mech.

"Our calculations are right after all," Mirage remarked as he identified the Decepticon's designation. "He seems to be coming from 23◦ North-west of our position."

"That hill," Hound, looking towards the indicated direction, pointed towards a prominent green-covered rise in the Earth. Said hill was only slightly higher than the one whose foot they currently use as their resting spot, about a mile and a half away from their location.

"I think we should trek on pedes from this point onwards. Slower, but the sounds of our engines might alert them to our presences – if there are any 'them' there, that is."

Hound gave a shrug towards his companion. "Why not? Being cautious won't hurt at all."

They got up immediately. True to their words, they did not transform and remain in bipedal modes throughout their journey despite having a neglected trail for jeeps and other wilderness-suited vehicles to use. Hound could drive along it halfway before he would be forced to abandon it since it led away from their intended destination but it would do no good to Mirage's more delicate alt-modes. Fortunately, their unconventional path was covered by the canopies of trees overhead, while vegetation below was tolerable enough to allow their passing without needing to hack their way through. Still, just as a measure of precaution, Hound maintained his hologram around them, assuming the appearance of their green, undisturbed surroundings as they proceeded onwards.

The hill was not very high, but the ascent to the top was rather steep. Between maintaining secrecy and putting up speed, the trek became more difficult than it should be. Hound was especially affected as the responsibility fell upon him to ensure that his hologram did not fail while finding the best path to reach the peak. Naturally suited to this kind of activity, he led the way while Mirage followed behind him cautiously, sometimes needing to be hauled up to the next foothold for it was not in his nature to be doing the hiking.

"See anything yet?" the Noble asked at one point, vents working to cool his taxed joints and servos. The condensation slicking his armours, mixing with what soil that got caught along, became unbecoming drops of mud which dirtied his once white-and-blue chassis, turning it pale yellowish-brown instead where contacts with the ground were frequent – his pedes, for instance.

"No – and my scanner picks up nothing yet so far." Hound sounded frustrated and Mirage could see why; if they went through all the troubles without satisfying results waiting at the top, their efforts would be in vain. "Maybe we'll find something if we manage to get up there."

There was really no choice save for the one already suggested by the jeep-former; giving up was completely out of the question. After all, with both being intelligence-gatherers, they recognized well the value of being patient – sometimes what they were searching would not just appear before their optics and required a little looking-around. They continued upwards, and, after much difficulties, managed to conquer the hill. It was a flatland there, with fewer tall trees than there were at the base and sides with shrubs and grasses growing on the ground level. It appeared that nothing was exceptional or out of place here to indicate presences of Decepticons, a point which Mirage mentioned to his partner and suggested to widen the area of their search and recalculate Buzzsaw's last trajectory to estimate the possible area visited by him.

"There's no need," Hound said and proceeded to explain, "I've kept track of Buzzsaw's position since we spotted him – and it appears that he is maintaining a scouting radius of 5 miles. The centre is exactly this hilltop. Oh, speaking of that devil, there he is."

Befriending and knowing Hound as well as he did, Mirage knew that the jeep was utilizing a human's metaphor and did not literally meant the Decepticon as the said devil; others who were not as attuned to the Earth linguistic aspects would be likely confounded by this peculiar comparison. Mirage was obviously excluded and so, dismissed it from his CPU to focus on the area of sky indicated by his friend.

True enough, said Decepticon could be seen breaking out of a large cloud cluster about five miles to the West of their position. The distance was constant even as he cruised in what was an unmistakable circular path, disappearing and appearing again through the white blobs that happened to lie in his way.

"You're right; Buzzsaw IS spying on this place," the Ligier agreed, "which means that we can expect more Decepticons soon."

"Problem is, we don't know _when _they will come," Hound groaned; he was reminded of the time back on Cybertron when he was forced to hide for almost two orns before his target was sighted with nothing but insectoids to keep him company – and while he loved observing Earth's creepy crawlers, those that were found on his home planet was dull to his optic sensors and did nothing but got under his armours and nearly short-circuited his systems. It was not exactly a pleasant experience.

"At least, you have me to keep you company."

Hound was actually grinning at this, a valid reason for the Noble to be unsettled. "Can I tickle you again? In case I get bored?"

"NO!"

So, they waited. And waited. And waited some more. To save energy, they retreated under the cover of particularly dense-canopied cluster of trees to hide there so he could shut off his hologram projector. Hound entertained himself by watching whatever wildlife that happened to pass within his optical range instead of inducing his Noble companion into another unstoppable giggling fit. The jeep sat so still whenever an animal emerged from its hiding place that he might be in stasis lock if not for his glowing optics and active Spark signature – one badger came up very close to him, its inquisitiveness momentarily overpowering his flee instinct to inspect this peculiar metal-man, before it was satisfied that there was no danger to its cubs snuggling in a nearby den.

Mirage passed the time by watching Hound in return. Awe filled him as he watched this rough Autobot soldier being so gentle with these organics – in a sense, Hound was probably more chivalrous, more caring than his past Noble friends. Back when Mirage was still living in the Tower, he spent his time honing his sharpshooting skills by hunting turbo-foxes, which he rarely missed. While his kills met swift, painless deactivation, his companions tended to 'play' with their preys first, injuring them just enough to prevent escape before tossing it around like a ball. When they got tired of their games, only then would their victims were deactivated – the poor creatures were close to dying from fatigue by then, if not massive loss of essential oils through their wounds. Hound would never shot a lesser creature for sporting basis, let alone played with his victims.

A small, brownish bird suddenly decided that Mirage's shoulder launcher would make an excellent perch. The Ligier was shocked as this small, vulnerable creature came to land on his most powerful arsenal, capable of shredding the bird's body into invisible pieces if he was to attack it with the missile loaded in it. Yet, it chirped happily while hopping back and forth along the weapon's length, wings fluttering to balance its position when Mirage turned to look at it.

Hound was actually smiling as he saw Mirage stiffened to let the bird comfortably perch on his shoulder launcher. "Looks like this lil' buddy is taking a liking for you."

The bird trilled a high note. It might be saying _yes, I like this perch a lot_; or, it might simply meant _I'm hungry_. Both mechs had no way of knowing, but the little creature remained there, now preening its feathers into neat arrangements, its little beak sliding through individual feather-spines as it did. Mirage could not help but smile at its innocent cuteness and consented himself to be its resting place for a while longer. He was taking extra care so as not to cause disturbances and so did Hound who had minimized his movements – the bird looked perfectly happy there as well...then, suddenly, it simply took off.

"What happens?" Mirage inquired – but the need to be answered faded when he realized that the bird had perhaps sensed that danger was incoming the way Hound's scanner detected the presences of some rather...unpleasant...companies in the vicinity; his hologram camouflage was activated even before the Ligier could tell him to do so. It seemed that the Earth-creatures' nature-honed instinct was not to be taken lightly; it might not be as advanced as the mechs' detection systems, but it was effective nevertheless.

"Decepticons," the green mech growled, sounding incredibly like his namesake and causing an icy chill to run down Mirage's back-strut. This was Hound's angry voice.

Six Decepticons with similar colour scheme, all airborne, was heading their way. Lime and purple dominated their paintjobs, a clear enough indication to their identities.

"Constructicons," Mirage breathed. The need to keep themselves hidden became obligatory by now; if they failed at it, not only they would be outnumbered, which was bad enough, both Mirage and Hound had chances close to nil if the Constructicons decided to merge into Devastator. Omega Supreme was the only individual who could reliably oppose the Decepticon merger in one-to-one combat. "Hound – your hologram?"

The green mech checked the working condition of his hologram projector instantly and was relieved to find that it was in perfect order. "Up and running. Your cloaking device? Just in case."

Mirage did likewise with the invisibility generator and confirmed that it was functioning after test-running it once, becoming invisible for an astrosecond before cancelling his cloaking function. "But I rather not use it." Its range was not wide enough to include Hound if, for some reason, his hologram camouflage did not work.

The Constructicons, led by Scrapper, touched down at the centre of the flat apex of the hill a few kliks later. Bonecrusher came in second, followed by Hook, then Long Haul, Scavenger and finally, Mixmaster, their landing pedes causing tremors to run through the Earth. The first to speak was Bonecrusher, who demanded in his deep voice, "Is this the right place?"

"Buzzsaw confirms that it is," answered Long Haul, looking around the place with what Mirage could amount to disgust from the way his optics glowed with sinister redness. "Though he didn't say anything at all about cleaning."

The other Constructicons apparently agreed with Long Haul's last statement, nodding and grumbling at the 'cleaning' that they would have to do, whatever that meant. Mirage and Hound exchanged puzzled looks with each other, not understanding at all what they were saying though they DID know that it wouldn't be good at all if they were caught in the middle of their activities. Mirage, fearing the sinister consequence of staying too close to the Decepticons AND of being overheard if he tried talking to his partner, opened his comm. link immediately.

::Hound, I think we better back up a little bit. I don't like the sound of this...cleaning that they're talking about.::

::Good idea.::

Carefully and with excruciating slowness, they retreated, inch by inch, towards the edge of the clearing until they were perched at the hillside, seeking firm ledge upon which they could sit and maintain watch on their targets. They found one nearby but there was just as much space to fit only one mech. They stared into each other's optics, realizing the problem straightaway – only one of them could stay and continued spying here while the other have to back up, or find another spot to occupy. He himself had to dangle a pede over the cliff since it was not even large enough to fit his whole chassis. Mirage didn't like the idea of them being separated for long distances and the next suitable perch could be way on the other side of the hill. Fortunately, he had an idea about this.

::You stay here, Hound. I think I can sneak up closer to them and hear what they're up to. I can move much more easily alone.::

::I don't think that's needed. I can increase the volumes of their voices with my wrist amplifier.::

He was already retracting the panel on his wrist to activate said device when Mirage clasped a servo over it, preventing its emergence.

:: It's too risky with us being so close to them. They may hear us. I'll go.::

Hound was clearly reluctant at the prospect of the Noble alone up there with those ruthless Constructicons nearby. However, Mirage had a point – this was his area of expertise. His cloaking generator did not only shield his visual appearance; to some extent, his Spark signature was hidden as well, which made detection far more difficult than if it was Hound to do the job. Furthermore, with Mirage gone, he would be less taxed in maintaining his hologram in covering an area only for himself. He was also forgetting the fact that Mirage was no pampered Noble; once he might be that, but the mech squatting beside him now was a fearsome soldier, one who could hold his ground well enough. With a quiet exhalation of air through his vents, Hound relented albeit with not so much ease.

::Alright, but keep your comm. link open.::

::I know that. Let's just hope I won't need it to call for reinforcement.::

::'Raj?::

::Yes, Hound?::

::Please stay safe.::

Mirage managed a smile at this; whenever they were out on a mission together, which they frequently were since their special abilities complemented each other nicely, Hound had yet to fail to wish for his safety.

::I will. You be careful too.::

And Mirage was suddenly rendered invisible by the momentary rectangle that engulfed his whole chassis. Hound could not see him, but his scanner could easily pinpoint his whereabouts and the tell-tale signs of him leaving were clear enough to the Autobot tracker; Pede-steps appeared out of nowhere on the ground beside him and small rocks and clumps of dirt pummelled him from above as the Ligier made his way up the hillside.

Mirage encountered little difficulty as he hoisted himself up to the top but it was the easy part in his mission. The hard part began when he saw the laser guns being held in each of the Constructicon's servos; he barely had the time to feel surprised when suddenly the ground next to him exploded in a flurry or shattered rocks and debris. It was an incredibly near miss, separated by a distance of merely a few centimetres; he could even feel the heat from the laser shot. Fear ran through his systems as he thought of the possibility that his presence there was already discovered – and then, he realized that only one of them was looking in his general direction. The others, though having their guns out, seemed oblivious to have an Autobot in their midst, each of them looking at different directions.

Scrapper's voice suddenly boomed through the area, shouting, "Mixmaster, stop fooling around and start working!"

Mixmaster, the Constructicon who had fired at Mirage – apparently out of randomness, from what the Ligier deducted from Scrapper's words and tone – changed his aim from the Autobot and pointed towards the cluster of trees nearby instead.

"Right-right-right on it, Scrapper!" he cackled in his usual thrice repetition, not in the least threatened by his (unofficial) leader's displeasure. "Let's start burn-burn-burning the whole thing down!"

Several trees fell down as Mixmaster's shot cut through their woody trunks; other Constructicons took this as somewhat a cue to start their 'cleaning' operation, laser beams firing out of their guns' nozzles and bringing down the alders, cottonwoods and aspens with mighty crashes that echoed in the surrounding area, leaves fluttering down in their wakes like strange, green snow. The Constructicons, ironically enough by having alt-modes of construction-purposed vehicles, were excellent at destruction; Bonecrucher seemed to be taking an exceptional delight in their current tasks from the way he enthusiastically ran through his aim-fire-aim routine.

"Watch where you aim that, fool!" Hook roared while ducking away from Bonecrusher to avoid being banged on the helm when the latter swung his arm around to point at another group of innocent trees.

Bonecrusher grunted his displeasure at being scolded and was almost upon his gestalt-mate when a gun dropped between the two, separating them from joining in a fruitless combat.

"The trees, NOT each other!" Scrapper put himself where his gun was only astroseconds before. "Remember that we have to clear this section of forest AND build the Space Bridge Ring by the next orn! Lord Megatron will have all our heads if we fail at the task!"

Mirage spy-instinct perked up at the words spat out by the Constructicons, realizing instantly the information contained was worth informing to the home base. However, he decided that it was better if he waited a little longer to see if there was more intelligence that he could gather for this session. After all, experiences of spying taught him that an unsuspecting individual was one of the best fountains of information, especially the individual happened to be from the rival group itself.

Hook huffed through his external vents as if Scrapper's concern was of small matter to him. "And we will. There is no easier task that he could've set on us than felling down these brittle organic pillars and constructing his toy in return."

"Not unless we waste the time bickering with each other! Now get to work, you two!"

Bonecrusher's faceplates scrunched in an exasperated expression as he struggled to rein in his rage at being yelled at. With any other mech it would be a hard enough work, but Bonecrusher's personality make the difficulty doubled for him. Although the Constructicons were essentially a team, there had been no absolute evidence of whom being the official leader – for the most parts, Scrapper took on the role since he was the most sensible, most stable of them all, but his words were not mandatory. As such, Bonecrusher could scream "No!" just as easily as he could mutter "Yes", but as always, Scrapper always had his reasons when he issued his 'order' and so, decided that he would have to nurse his wounded pride alone for the time being.

"I don't see why that aft Shockwave couldn't have transferred the Bridge's opening to somewhere easier to reach," Scavenger said, watching Bonecrusher stalked off to a different direction and unleashing his anger upon some unfortunate trees.

Hook was happy to fill in on his gestalt-mate to take his processors off his recent quarrel. "It was before, but since the Generator had been damaged in the last guerrilla assault, reformatting its programme changes the opening's original location."

"I know that." The other was obviously uncomfortable with the tone that Hook was using; a perfectionist he was, he considered Scavenger as somewhat pathetic and had no regret in using a more pompous tone when talking to the excavator. "I was asking why he can't change the location AFTER being reformatted."

"It takes time – time that Megatron doesn't seem to have," Hook replied, the are-you-stupid tone was unabashedly clear in his voice.

Scavenger decided that it was better for him to keep his vocalizer shut off or he would be subjected to further indirect humiliation from the crane-former. He had trouble enough with his self-esteem without Hook to make it worse, thank you very much. Wordlessly, he turned his back towards the other and resumed his tree-shooting. The air was filled with numerous _tsews _of laser shots but absolutely no spoken words – just as Scrapper preferred it.

Mirage sensed a note of finality in the way the Constructicons continued working without much more than grunting (or in the case of Mixmaster, cackling) and decided that his job was done for now. He moved with stealth that his slight form granted him, quickly yet silently, avoiding places where there were high chances to be shot at until he was back with Hound on the tiny ledge.

::Mirage?::

He asked and simultaneously looking at the place where the Noble was supposed to be although Mirage was still enveloped by invisibility. His scanner must have detected his coming, the question serving only as a confirmation and was almost rhetorical had they did not acknowledge the need to take caution, so Mirage answered nevertheless.

::Here.::

Having said that, a tall rectangular box appeared at the jeep-former's side, within which the Ligier appeared as if out of thin air. Hound's hologram extended immediately to encompass the Noble along, creating an illusion of completely empty cliff in their immediate surroundings.

::Well?::

::We will need to report this to the base. But first, let's get out of their range. I have enough of hiding and speaking through comm. link.::

::As you wish, Your Majesty. I think I've located a suitable hideout for that.::

Mirage lifted a servo high above his helm as if to smack the other but refrained himself, knowing that the sound of his metal meeting Hound's would likely draw the Decepticons to their location.

::You just wait until we get to this hideout. I advise you to enjoy your dent-free helm for now.::

Hound stifled his chuckle into a wide mischievous grin – the same one that he had used before – as they slowly made their way down the hillside, pedes seeking for firm ground to step on.

::Not if I can get my digits on your side first.::

**XxXx**

It was noon time. A few kliks more and then it would be time for Optimus Prime to take his interstitial break before resuming his works. One would have thought that nothing would have occurred during the short expanse of time – and as such, would have left the post a klik or two earlier from the intended period – but the Prime knew better. Sometimes, even the most insignificant, most overlooked matters counted, so he consented himself to wait. And it was right of him to do so too because not long afterwards, the buzzer of his office went off once, not too loud and yet very sharp, and from that alone he could deduce as to whom was outside, pressing the _I'm here_ button beyond the door.

Opening his intercom, he commanded, "Come in, Prowl."

With the permission, the door opened; walking into the Prime's office was indeed the Datsun-patroller, his doorwings unmoving but drawn slightly up, a sign of calm seriousness – basically, his mode when there were unpleasant reports to be handled to. Being a punctual mech he was, Optimus Prime assumed that the report must have been submitted fairly recently since his Second had tendency to finish his works and had them on his desk as quickly as possible. Prowl's gait was a unique one, somehow maintaining unnatural grace even with his sharp strides as if his chassis had worked out a style which fused both the rigidity of marching and the casualty of normal walking. It was, Optimus thought that it won't be so extreme to say, that it was somehow an externalization of his personality; generally a gentle Spark, the Datsun would not hesitate to jump into actions, given that the probability of 'acting on it' would yield more beneficial result than 'not acting'.

Prowl made his way quickly towards his leader, stopping just before the desk. Now, in human's military tradition, an inferior would be needed to salute his superior and only then was allowed to speak; it was not so with Cybertronians. Optimus Prime personally thought that it was completely unnecessary – he admitted that humans were adept in so many aspects; unfortunately, wasting time for excessive formality was one of them. A nod was sufficient to give his Second the permission to speak instead of salutation, and so Prowl continued:

"Sir, I have received a field report from Mirage and Hound just now. Apparently they have confirmed sightings of Decepticons. The full report is here." A standard-model datapad was produced from his subspace and handed it to his leader. "Apparently, the Constructicons were responsible for a small-scale deforestation – the area of which is intended for Space Bridge Ring."

Optimus Prime accepted the datapad graciously – deep in his Spark, though, there was a trace of disappointment rearing its head up. He knew that it was too good to be true that the Decepticon would lay low for long even with its key officer was under Autobot captivity. He did not voice out his feelings though, and said instead, "Thank you, Prowl. From Mirage and Hound, you say?"

"Yes, sir. Their observation indicates that the Decepticons, specifically the Constructicons, are aiming to erect a Space Bridge Ring here at this coordinate – " Prowl politely pointed towards a highlighted area on the map included in the report, a blinking red dot pinpointing said location, "– and are working on it even as we speak."

"They have to level down all the trees in a considerably large perimeter before they can even begin constructing. Haven't any of the humans detected their activities?"

"Apparently, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw take turns in keeping watch over the area and driving possible intruders off. If not for Hound's hologram and Mirage's cloaking device, we might not get any news regarding this at all. And they avoid setting fire in their cleaning so as not to draw attentions to themselves."

"Clever," Optimus muttered, though from Megatron he should have expected no less. His optics scanned the words displayed on the datapad, absorbing and digesting information at speed that only a Cybertronian's computerized efficiency could manage. "There's something about being _in a presumably tight schedule as, to quote from one of the Constructicons (Scrapper), '...to clear this section of forest and build the Space Bridge Ring by the next orn.'_ What do you make of this, Prowl?"

Prowl did not hesitate at all when replying, "Taking into accounts the pattern of Decepticon activities from previous experiences, the delivery of energon supply to Cybertron is usually done within 48 joors from the time of attack. The last raid was done seven orns ago but Teletraan-I has yet picking up any energy signature preceding the opening of Space Bridge, which is a strong indication that no delivery has been carried out –"

"...so, you're saying that Cybertron is running out of energy and needs immediate replenishment from the Decepticon force on Earth?"

"It seems so, sir. However, there is also concern of it being a decoy."

Optimus Prime spotted the root of this particular theory straight away; Constructicons were rarely deployed in building the Ring since it was a simple construction – that was, by Cybertronian technology's standard – and Megatron preferred to manipulate their expertises on his grander schemes of things . Could it be that the Constructicons were merely a diversion while Megatron cooked up some other diabolical plan behind the Autobots' back?

"We have too little affirmatives on their plans and motives for us to act upon. Have Hound and Mirage continue their surveillance – see if they can gather more information regarding to the Constructicon's activities," the Prime finally decided though he did not sit very well with the notion of sitting and waiting while Megatron and his army were possibly planning something dangerous.

Prowl did not object although he was similarly unsettled with Optimus's order because he, of all mechs, acknowledged the need for sufficient information on which they would utilize when organising an attack. However, he did have his own suggestion to be presented to his Commander. "Prime sir, I suggest we dispatch Powerglide to their location since the Constructicons outnumber our men greatly – not to mention that they can merge themselves into Devastator."

Powerglide might not be a very fast flier – as his designation implied, he was more of a soaring kind and Seekers could easily overtake him in a dead-straight flight – but he was incredibly agile, even more so compared to Skyfire. That, and his engine was also a lot quieter, making him suitable for stealth-required mission such as this one. He would be a perfect addition to the scouting group, looking at the fact that a flier could reach Mirage's and Hound's location a lot faster and easier than any land-based vehicles should they require reinforcement. At the very least, Powerglide could provide the needed distraction while his fellow Autobots made their escape, his amazing manoeuvrability would keep him out of harm's way.

"Very well – Send Powerglide out, but make sure he does not draw attention to himself." If there was one thing that Optimus Prime was worried when having the glider on the field, it was his tendency to show off when his team mates were aiming for secrecy. Nevertheless, there was no better candidate for this particular mission and Powerglide would carry out orders to the best of his ability even if it meant forcing himself to lay low. "Is there anything more you wish to tell me?"

"No, sir."

"Then you may leave."

Prowl's nod of acknowledgement was the substitute for the humans' obligatory salutes were they in his position before he left the Prime's office to carry out his newest order. The Autobot Supreme Commander had a buzzing in his logic circuits that the glider's aid would be needed before long, especially if someone as threatening as the Devastator-gestalts were involved – the Second's sense of urgency showed that the Datsun too was feeling the same.

Optimus barely had the chance to stow away the datapad for more thorough viewing later when the office's buzzer went off again, as sharp and loud as Prowl's had been. In fact, it might have been well coming from the Datsun-former, by the characteristic sound of it, if not for the fact that it sounded twice, making it almost certain that this time, it was Ratchet who was responsible for its pressing. Optimus granted his spoken permission to enter via the intercom; the door slid open, and the mech walking in was just as Optimus had guessed, a datapad in one red servo and a sense of urgency surrounding his very person. Such mood was normal when they had just returned from battles and there were heaps of mechs waiting for Ratchet's service but the Decepticons had yet to show open hostility.

"Prime," Ratchet greeted; his voice was hinted with the same sort of determined one-mindedness, "Do you have a nanoklik?"

"Certainly. Please sit down," and gestured towards one of the two empty chairs placed across the desk.

Ratchet heeded the suggestion and seated himself into the nearest one. Optimus thought that the CMO was not in his optimal condition; his optics glowed with weaker luminescence than they normally did and there was tiredness etched on his otherwise serious expression. It was as if he had missed his entire recharge cycle completely. Being the concerned leader he was, Optimus Prime ached to inquire about Ratchet's health condition but the time for such questions was not now, so he opted for a simple "Yes, Ratchet?"

A quiet gust of air was vented through the ambulance's vents as if preparing himself for some difficult explanation. "I need a little favour, Prime."

This caught the Prime slightly off-guard; it was not because of the medic's request but rather the slight hesitance his faceplates displayed when he said it. "Hmm? And what is that?"

As an answer, Ratchet reached out across the desk with his datapad-filled servo, offering the object to the Prime. "I'm sure that Ironhide had submitted a report on last night's incident involving Starscream, yes?"

Optimus Prime sorted through the stack of datapads that he had arranged earlier, searching for the aforementioned report; he knew that it was there somewhere, having been personally delivered by a not-happy Ironhide this morning – in fact, it was the first datapad he received for the orn, with the submitter looking just too pleased to be rid of it. Pulling it out from the mass, he gave it a quick scan to refresh the information that had already been stored in his memory banks.

"Yes, he did," the Autobot leader said, looking up from the report and set it aside to return his focus back to the medic before him, "Starscream is diagnosed with a case of severe claustrophobia – and that you fortunately escape him with ignorable damages, according to Ironhide's account in this."

"That's true – but there's more. It seems that prolonged depression causes nervous breakdown and couple it with the Seeker's fear of enclosed space, you get a mad Starscream who's both a danger to mechs around him and to himself." Ratchet gestured towards his datapad, now lying before Optimus among its much earlier brethrens to indicate that further information had already been included in his report.

The Matrix-bearer took the report and gave it a cursory reading, just to get a hint first at its contents before going through its depth the next time; he scrolled down to the bottom of the page where his optics were instantly caught by the bold letterings made up the headline _Suggestion, _and underneath it was _Installation of wings necessary to stabilize the processes of CPU._ Optimus's helm snapped upwards in surprise. "Are you sure about this? About your suggestion?"

"Quite sure," he replied; like Optimus, the medic could not tell whether doing so would result in unexpected consequences but it was the best solution that he could come up with, provided with current circumstances. "Skyfire has informed me that losing his wings could be a major source for Starscream's fragile mentality; giving them back might ease up the tension accumulating in his systems and reduces the chance of him going berserk again."

The Autobot Commander's gaze faltered as he put down the datapad and leaned back into his chair, allowing his back-strut to relax for a while; he rarely allowed the weight of thinking from externalizing itself through his actions but he made special exception when faced with select few individuals, one of them being Ratchet. While he was no godlier than any of the existing Cybertronians, the Prime title that came with being the Matrix-bearer carried a certain obligation on his part to be more than his fellow Autobots – the ultimate authority, a leader inviolate and incorruptible, the figurehead of whom people looked up to, sought counsel from and confided into.

However, dropping all his emotional and mental restraints before one of the mech he was comfortable to truly reveal himself, he leaned forward to see optic-to-optic with the CMO, his digits stapled together in an upside-down 'V'. "It's not that I do not wish for Starscream's better state, a Decepticon though he is, but it is a dangerous step to take – not to mention the others' possible dissatisfaction."

"I realize – but NOT doing it will be worse. I've considered this thoroughly and the benefits will be worth the trouble."

"Apparently it does..." His vents sighed along with his vocalizer. He realized that Ratchet had presented a valid point but it did not stop his Spark from sending pings of uneasiness into his systems. Starscream was a very dangerous mech to have around whether you were his friend or foe, his Spark was unfathomable and his processors unexpected. It raised a nagging question whether having the Seeker brought to sanity would be a good thing – savagely animalistic when under duress, Megatron's Second would be just as threatening when he was in his right CPU and had his infamous cunningness at his disposal. The clashes of opinions going on in his logic circuits made him sighed one more time, his digits pinching the space between his optics rather unconsciously.

"I know that this is a difficult decision to make," Ratchet interrupted, realizing the stress that his leader endured under the heavy responsibility in having to make the right decision, "but please consider this carefully before you make up your CPU about it."

Optimus Prime was silent even though he very much appreciated the concern shown by the Chief Medic, his thoughts still largely focused on the matter at hand. Again, he fished out Ratchet's datapad and started reading; this time, it was not merely a brief glance but a thorough, in-depth analysis of the information displayed on the virtual screen. Done with it, Ironhide's report underwent similar scrutiny by the Prime, relating the account from the van-former with Ratchet's. This went on for several very quiet kliks before the truck-former finally settled the two datapads down and returned his attention to the patiently-waiting Ratchet.

"Ratchet, are you absolutely sure with what you're about to do? And this failsafe password of yours...I understand that it will prevent his ignition system from functioning...but will Starscream be able to break it just as he did with the universal override code?"

Ratchet was ready with the answers even before he stepped into Optimus's office for his reply came quick and confident, "I'm positive about it. And the password is linked to the crippling programme encoded by Teletraan-I itself, and I doubt that even ten Starscreams will be able to undo the override – unless, of course, he hacks into Teletraan-I's mainframe to delete it."

The larger Autobot nodded, satisfied with the explanation provided. He took out an empty datapad from the underside drawer and scribbled a few lines upon it, the electro-pen dancing on the virtual surface with blurry speed while Cybertronian glyphs appeared in its wake, glowing a lighter, more intense shade of blue than their backgrounds. "I'll be speaking to Ironhide and Jazz about the security matters. I will give you my written statement of approval for this surgical operation in a few more joors – In the meantime, you can commence with preparing the med-bay to receive Starscream." He jotted down something on the screen with a few sharp jabs before deactivating the datapad and stowing it away in his sub-space.

The suddenness of it all rendered the CMO stunned for a while before he regained his capacity to move and vocalize which he did at the same time by leaning forward and asking, "You agree with it?"

"I do. Besides, we all can do with a less maniacal Starscream in the brig. I've heard that hardly a guard ever signed off from duty without complaints of his snarkiness."

Optimus did got down to the brig a few times already, just to see for himself how the captive fared in the encapsulating environment since he was aware of the Seekers' tendency to CPU-crash in imprisonment – something that he did not desire happening to Starscream if he was to prevent escalating the tension already existed between the Autobots and Decepticons – but every time, he would find the Seeker deep in recharge. Or pretending to be deep in recharge, he was not so sure which one, but either way, he did not attempt to wake him up. At least he would be of no trouble when he powered down. It was only from his Autobot soldiers that he got wind how vicious Starscream was with his vocalizer, though Optimus was not really surprised about it; Starscream used every resource at his disposal to its maximum use, and the only thing left to his usage for now was his voice and his capacity to annoy.

"Thank you, Prime. I will see to it to it as best as I can. Is there anything else I should know?"

"Actually, there is one condition if you want to go on with the operation."

The relaxed feature already starting to creep across Ratchet's faceplates instantly subsided, worried that it would greatly delay the operation when it seemed that it needed to be executed in the nearest time being if they were to avoid similar unfortunate event. "What is it?"

The Prime actually smiled behind his opaque battle-mask when he spoke, "Get yourself some rest before you begin; you look like you can use a few joors of recharge."

"Oh." A versatile non-committal syllable to have around when you have not a clue of your feelings, or else too shocked to articulate a more intelligent response – In Ratchet's case, it was the latter. Then, after having his composure returned to him, "I know where my limit is –and just so to assure you, I AM planning to refuel and recharge after this."

The unseen smile broadened with his amusement at Ratchet's response. "Perhaps, but sometimes even the doctor needs reminding to take a rest."

It was clear to both mechs that they had exhausted all the important topics to be discussed so Ratchet made to get up from his seat, eager at the prospect of downing energon and a fitful recharge in his chamber. There was a slight, almost imperceptible bounce in the medic's every step as he walked towards the exit, noticeable only because of Optimus's long-standing acquaintance with Ratchet, that spoke much of his enthusiasm and relief at his achievement.

From inside, the opening of the door did not require for the Prime's approval to be triggered. Thus, sensing his approach, it slid sideways to make way for Ratchet but the medic halted mid-step just as he was about to cross the threshold between the office and the corridor outside to turn around and address the still-sitting truck, "Thank you for considering this, Prime," before he left the office completely. Silence returned to the place with only one mech left in there once the door hissed close in Ratchet's wake but Optimus's CPU buzzed as if having multiple persons speaking to him at the same time. Barely did he realize just how messy his working desk had became after receiving two consecutive visits from his officers and set himself to tidy the place a little, returning it to its former neatness. He took the time to allow his processors wander on the conversations he had with the CMO, hoping with every molecular structure in his being that this was the right decision to make.

His chronometer informed that he had missed a meagre three kliks from his resting period, a negligible loss compared to what he in return had yielded from the meetings that had taken place during those times. He could rest now, but before that, there was something left to be done. His comm. link reached out to both Jazz first, and since it was on formal channel, the saboteur responded in a manner appropriate in addressing his superior. As he had promised to Ratchet, he requested his presence in his office to discuss about the upcoming surgical operation, of which he replied to positively.

Next was Ironhide; though Red Alert could have stood in the van-former's place, Optimus felt like the Lamborghini had too much already in his servos to mind without adding this delicate operation to him – as advisor maybe, but not the main security manager.

::Ah'll be there, Prahm. :: Ironhide responded – perhaps much too spiritedly than he should. Optimus could not blame him since he had been itching for some actions by now; while he did not wish for real problems to break, Ironhide's eagerness was assuring, knowing that he would put the best he had in carrying out his task later.

::Thank you. Optimus out. ::

Everything was set in motion now. There would be no turning back once he finished his forthcoming discuss with the two key officers of this operation, and he would see to it that everything run as smoothly as possible. As he made his way towards the mess hall, intending to have a little socialization with the other Autobots as he wont to do during his free time, the nagging feeling that something was amiss remained bubbling steadily below his consciousness, subtle yet nagging enough to unsettle the Prime.

_It is the right thing to do, _he told himself sternly, resigning himself and his plan to the hands of destiny.


	13. Chapter 13

"Aha! I win!" Smokescreen exclaimed triumphantly as he revealed his winning sets of holo-cards, a smug grin completing his characteristic expression whenever he succeeded at something.

"No, you didn't! You cheat!" Bumblebee retorted as he practically threw down his own sets, which by comparison was pitiful to Smokescreen's.

"You just can't beat the god of gambling at his own games," the blue Datsun sneered, apparently taking satisfaction at his victory.

Bumblebee was not a very good candidate for a gambler. However, stuck in the brig area for joors with only Smokescreen as your company, the choice was limited to interacting with Starscream in the most unpleasant way or enduring the Datsun's gloating each and every time he beat the yellow Volkswagen in his field of expertise. Neither was pleasant, but the former was a few times worse than the latter. The blue Datsun would be worse than Bumblebee in his anger and it would do better for the yellow Bug to just go with the flow than struggling to restraint Smokescreen from beating the slag out of Starscream if he was annoyed enough by the insinuation.

Knowing that he would be subjected to mental abuse when taking the guard duty, Bumblebee had prepared himself beforehand – The Twins had narrated rather superfluously that Starscream's vocalizer hurt the listeners no matter what words he spat out – but he was shocked when only silence met him the astrosecond he entered the brig area. It was odd since the wingless Seeker was definitely awake – if looks could kill, Bumblebee was sure he would be permanently deactivated when Starscream glared at the Autobot when peering into the cell to inspect for wrongness – but the prisoner was silent. Well, except for a displeased hiss and a couple of snarls, that was. Smokescreen was similarly unsettled but decided to leave the Decepticon be or risked escalating the situation into fiercer level. The only thing powerful enough to distract him was holo-cards gambling with or without the betting, so Bumblebee consented himself to watch his companion bragged about his superiority at the game.

Smokescreen was ready to deal for another round – Bumblebee inwardly groaned at the prospect of enduring another victorious smirk from his companion – when a large figure stepped through the suddenly opened door of the brig area. The size and outline alone were very definitive that Bumblebee did not need any lighting to reveal the identity of the newcomer mech to be belonging to the Ark's resident Air Guardian. Smokescreen, whose chair was swivelled around at the opening hiss of the door, was also aware of the large Cybertronian making his way towards them with steps that sounded a notch too light for his size because the Datsun waved a servo towards him in invitation.

"Care for a round or two, Skyfire?"

Said shuttle stepped out from the shadows of the arched entrance and into the brig's light-touched area; a smile was expectedly carving the shapes of his lip-components, small but genuine. "No, thanks. There's no point competing against the master himself."

Bumblebee would had been very much surprised if the shuttle actually agreed to gamble with the Datsun – After all, Skyfire was not exactly a figure you would expect to be found in a Kaon's backstreet bar or some asteroid-based casinos. In fact, Bumblebee could not recall any instances where the Autobot flyer got deliberately over-energized over a few cubes of energon, even in times of great depression where others would gladly surrendered to the sweetness of oblivion.

"Is it time already?" the minibot with much too enthusiasm than he preferred but it was unavoidable. Knowing that the shuttle's job was to deliver Starscream's daily ration, specifically at noon break, his presence practically meant that the time had come when they would be momentarily released from their duty. In a joor, they would have to return to this same place doing this same duty, but the thought of freedom brought joy and relief that later misery could not erase completely.

Skyfire's default smile changed a little, now conveying his understanding at the young bot's eagerness. "It is. You both go and have your break while I take over."

Bumblebee punched the air in exaggerated fashion, a shouted "Yes!" reverberating throughout the enclosed space – but it was Smokescreen who was faster in leaving the brig area; while the yellow scout was busy chatting with the shuttle, he had already stowed away his gambling set into his sub-space in preparation to leave, awaiting only Skyfire's confirmation. Now that he received it, the Datsun was dashing away from the place, his hasty thanks conveyed only in passing, leaving Bumblebee and Skyfire staring rather dumbly at his departure.

"Well...that's unexpected," the smaller mech managed after a few nanokliks of awed silence. He had thought that he would win in the race out of the brig at least. "Guess I'm not that much fun to play holo-cards with."

Bumblebee thought he heard something that sounded suspiciously halfway between a cough and a chuckle from where the shuttle was standing. Turning around, Skyfire's mouth was covered with his palm to hide his unmistakable grin though his optics radiated his amusement just as intensely. "It isn't your loss even if it's true," he said after his composure returned, "Though I myself am not aware of such things as 'boring' and 'interesting' gamblers."

"Good luck with Starscream – though I don't think you're going to need it. Been a little quiet actually. Strange, isn't it?" Bumblebee jerked his thumb over his shoulder-strut, indicating towards said Seeker who still refused to move an inch from his berth. Truth to be told, he had heard rumours of the Seeker occasionally acting up and suddenly mutated into an unsettlingly silent mech – though this behaviour rarely lasted more than three joors, the maximum being five.

Skyfire stretched himself slightly to peer over in the pointed direction and frowned. "Yes, strange indeed."

Had Bumblebee paid more attention to the shuttle, he would notice that Skyfire's frown was heavier on the side of concern rather than suspicion; as it was, the Beetle was more interested in the thought of savouring energon than anything else. While he bounced away happily to claim his much-awaited rest, not a shred of suspicion ever crossed in his processors that the huge flyer was not here solely for the purpose of providing nourishment to the Decepticon prisoner – that Skyfire was, in fact, on the road to cross all taboos that the war had ever set upon its participants.

The moment he was left alone, the shuttle-former dropped his pretence at indifference and rushed towards the energy-barred cell. Skyfire was fairly certain that last night's phobia had worn off the Seeker but there never really a guarantee that a freak accident was not in order. His fear proved to be useless because, as his optics swept along the slender chassis lying on the berth, he noticed that nothing was seriously out of place – just Starscream letting his consciousness wallowing in one of his worse moods. Being his research partner millions of stellar cycles ago, Skyfire had learnt that the Seeker's focus would need a little tugging back on the Earth if he was to gather his attention, hence his soft call towards the stoic Decepticon.

"Starscream, it's me."

The colourful figure jerked as if being forcefully aroused from recharge, the grey helm snapping around towards the source of the voice. Feral grimace at the intrusion instantaneously evolved into a welcoming grin when recognition was made. "A more pleasant company – FINALLY!"

Following the same security procedures numerous of times before, Skyfire was soon on the other side of the brig. His worry had been reduced somewhat but it was still there, evident in the way his optics darted along the length of Starscream's frame, lingering especially long where residual damages that had yet to be self-repaired were still visible. Starscream noticed where the Autobot were looking at and crossed his arms together, huffing, "Slag it, Skyfire! I'm not a weak Sparkling! Stop staring at me like that!"

Skyfire came to sit on Starscream's side without invitation, knowing all too well that it was exactly what the Decepticon wanted. "Naturally, I was worried after what you've gone through just joors before."

The jet-former ended up looking pretty much unsure whether to continue being annoyed at his larger friend's unneeded concern or settle down with the growing content in receiving his attention. He was not even certain of the right words to give as a reply when he felt something warm and cubic was gently thrust into his palm. In his busily processing CPU, he did not realize when had the energon cubes being retrieved from the other's subspace.

Skyfire thought that the Seeker was being...less focused this orn than he normally was. Constantly being kept just above the definition of under-energized as a mortgage to prevent deliberate hostility, Starscream's primal instinct was to absorb energy whenever he could, resulting him acting as if an energon-whore. It might be that simple dispiritedness caused him his lack of enthusiasm in nourishment but the shuttle suspected that something bigger was distracting him. Of what, he still could not tell. There were no thanks, verbal or otherwise, coming from Starscream as he listlessly took the energon cube from the Autobot and downed the content just as expressionlessly. There was not even relief at the sensation of it flowing down his main fuel line that Skyfire observed being usually displayed during consumption. It was like Starscream was hardly a sentient, Spark-possessing being at all, merely a pre-programmed drone to act like one. The mix of inquisitiveness-worry that had been bottled up in the shuttle-former's systems was beyond containment now, hence him asking, "Starscream, is there something wrong?"

Starscream did not pause in his consumption but the rate in which he did it increased significantly until not a drop left. Casting the empty cube aside, the Seeker took his time to wipe the trickles of energon running down the corner of his lip-components with the back of his servo but his optics, red and glowing brighter now that he had been energized, did not leave from the light-grey faceplates of the other. There was obviously something swirling around in his CPU but the jet-former was reluctant to indulge it.

When a klik passed with zero exchange of words, Skyfire tried again. "You know that you can always tell me...What is it?"

Again there was silence except for the soft venting of air from the Seeker's intakes. It was a contest of will now when they stared into each other's unwavering optics as they assessed the other's resoluteness for secrecy. Whether he had eventually recognized the futility of persisting or that he simply did not wish to keep it bottle up in himself was up to debate, but after a few astroseconds of stalemate, the Decepticon flyer admitted defeat via the heavy sigh through his pectoral vents and the averting of his gaze.

"Skyfire...what's going to happen to me?" Starscream's inquiry was a mere whisper that the characteristic screech was almost completely gone from his voice.

"Why do you suddenly ask this?" But Skyfire was met instead by the Seeker's hard, sorrowful optics, a storm of mixed emotions was brewing within them. Touched by the mental instability showed by his Decepticon friend, the shuttle-former's white servo reached out to cup the still-damaged side of Starscream's helm, pulling gently so that their faceplates were mere Cybertronian inches apart. "I cannot give you any guarantee but know this at least; I will defend you to the best of my abilities so long you do not harm my friends. I cannot help you if you endanger the Autobots."

The red optics suddenly flashed once Skyfire was finished, the beginning of a snarl curling the corner of his mouth. "You're threatening me."

But the Autobot shuttle remained as calm as ever when he countered, "I am merely warning you, Starscream. I hold no special place in the army to prevent you from landing in slag if you don't help yourself." As if to assure the Seeker of his good intention, Skyfire's lips closed the distance between them, finally planting a kiss on the small space between those optics, their blazing redness tempered to dimmer glow at the touch.

Skyfire's gentleness triggered a positive reaction in the Decepticon's systems; taut cables loosened and motor joints relaxed as more warmth travelled between the two mechs. The shuttle-former felt his friend's ferocious self melted to reveal the core of misery hidden inside, captivity and lack of socialization rendering the proud warrior into this pitiful being.

"I'm unwanted here, Skyfire. The Autobot is not for me," the red-blue-white mech mumbled once the lip's pliable metals were separated from his forehead and the drugging serenity that came with them vanished.

"Is that what you're so worried about?" Skyfire asked; it was his turn to indulge in the warmth of Starscream's touch as those blue digits roamed on his faceplates, reciprocating the comfort that had just been given. Through the stroking, Starscream was silent, neither denying nor agreeing, again battling whatever tumults that assaulted his processors. "Starscream..."

The tone was begging for an answer but Starscream had nothing proper to give; instead, he leaned forward and rested the front of his helmet against the white wall of armours before him, letting friendly heat from the shuttle suffused into him. It was a while before enough strength was mustered for him to whisper, "Don't leave me."

The same words had been repeated thrice over the course of Starscream's imprisonment, but none had sounded so desperate, so hopeful, so Sparkbreaking as this one. The Decepticon Seeker was infamous for his notoriety in battles, an image that he upheld every astroseconds of his activation and right through his time in captivity; there were few instances where such prideful a creature would surrender to the floods of emotions. That he did so right now spoke much of his intense depression where stoicism was completely out of the question. Upon automated reaction, the shuttle draped an arm across the other's back, mentally cringing at the unnatural narrowness of the surface where the wings were removed from there.

"I'll be with you as long as I can," Skyfire answered; it was a reply that came naturally to him, one that he intended to keep to the best of his abilities – but nothing in his current circumstance informed him of the future hardships that came in fulfilling the statement that was so easy to utter now. Starscream succumbed to the insistence of his emotions and let himself relax in the embrace of the shuttle, partially relieved that he had now the words that he had always wanted to hear.

Somehow, Skyfire could sense that whatever it was that bothered Starscream was still haunting the Seeker albeit at less severity. Other's discomfort had always affected him but from the Seeker he was especially sensitive to. He had not meant to inform the Seeker of this particular good news yet until Ratchet had confirmed of its time, but he decided that Starscream's current mood deserved a little cheering up.

"I don't know what bothers you this much, nor do I know whether I can help with it," the shuttle-former began, choosing only fair words in order to console his obviously-distressed friend, "But if it's of any help, Ratchet and I are planning to reinstall your wings."

The shudder that coursed through Starscream's chassis stopped abruptly; the Seeker was silent like contemplating for the validity of the claim before the optics looked up, straight into Skyfire's own. A mix of paradoxical disbelief and hopefulness were roiling in those deep pools or red, wanting desperately to believe and yet afraid to do so.

It was another astrosecond before he could croak out, "I'll be slagged."

"It's true," Skyfire shook his helm as he answered, denying Starscream's pessimism, "Ratchet has gotten a clearance for it even as we speak, but the official document to permit it will not be issued for a few joors. There's also the preparation to mind so how long you'll have to wait is anybody's guess, but it WILL be done."

The astrosecond Skyfire finished his sentence, he was expecting for a smile to blossom on the sullen faceplates; instead, he was surprised to find out that he had underestimated Starscream's reaction _badly_, who had lunged for the shuttle's neck-cabling and pulled hard. Skyfire bent down under the pressure and found his faceplates being peppered with grateful kisses from the other. The last one was delivered on his lip-components, the most passionate – and also the longest. When they parted, Skyfire felt as if his processors had just been rebooted after a long recharge. 'Dizzy' was something as close as he could get in describing the sensations assaulting his systems, but it was far from being uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact. Regaining the sense of realism was a hard work when you were still entranced by the pleasure a kiss was offering you but Skyfire somehow managed it, sinfully hopeful that there would be more to come.

Looking down at the colourful Seeker, it puzzled Skyfire that the Decepticon seemed to be at the edge of giggling so the latter filled him in, "You've never failed to amaze me, Skyfire. One nanoklik and you say that you're nobody among the Autobots; next, and somehow you've miraculously granted one of my wishes despite the odds against it."

The circular shoulder-struts lifted in an easy shrug, a usual show of modesty typical of the shuttle and said, "You'll have to thank Ratchet for that. Without his medical opinion, Prime will not have relented for it easily."

It happened in an imperceptibly short time for a Transformer, let alone for human's point of view. Thus, it was not surprising that Skyfire, for all his analytical sensory perceptions, fail to notice the dark look crossing the Decepticon's faceplates for a mere half of an astrosecond – Starscream had gone further by hiding his negative expression by looking down and the voice he used when he commented was neutral, "It seems that you depend a lot on the medic."

"He's a very capable medic," the shuttle-former replied, missing completely the sarcasm in the Seeker's tone. "And he's willing to help."

"Joy," Starscream muttered, not bothering to hide his discontent. Skyfire did not miss the less-than-happy tone this time and found it odd that the Seeker would be upset – more so that he had no idea of the _why_.

"Starscream...what's wrong? I thought you'd be happy that you're getting your wings back."

The smaller mech did not answer him, though; there was something about it that shouted for privacy and the shuttle respected the boundary, knowing where and when to press for the full truth. Instead, he contented himself to pull the Seeker closer to him and engulfed the slighter chassis in his arms, his systems whirling softly in comfort that his offer for intimacy was not being rejected as his question had been. Neither of them interrupted the silence that followed, but it was only for a few kliks. It was when Skyfire's internal chronometer beeped an internal alarm at a preset time, which was to alert him to the more pressing matters awaiting his attention. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from Starscream even though every single impulse his processors gave was to prolong the moment.

"What now? Afraid that someone is going to spy on us?" The jet-former grumbled at the separation though he relented at the gentle push and let go of his hold.

"Partly, but actually I have quite a few things to be done before you can have back your wings. Like preparing the med-bay to receive you."

Starscream crossed his arms on his yellow cockpit. His expression was hard and dissatisfied at the premature leave. "I thought that Hatchet is going to cover it all up."

"It's _Ratchet_," Skyfire corrected calmly but there was something weird surging through his systems at Starscream's mispronounced designation of the medic. "He IS responsible for the operation but he has already overworked himself. I see no harm if I am to lend a helping servo."

Starscream shrugged carelessly as if waiving away the hard works that the Autobot CMO put himself through in order to see the Seeker's form back in all its glorious perfection. Again that peculiar feeling assaulted Skyfire's inner circuitries but it infected him further this time; his Sparkbeat increased slightly, followed by an unexpected rise in his core temperature. It was almost as if his systems reacted to his..._anger_? Unwilling to let this uncontrollable reaction got any worse, Skyfire excused himself quickly , perhaps with a little too enthusiasm than he normally displayed. Starscream detected his peculiar behaviours to give his optic ridge a puzzled rise but did not question further – instead, his farewell came as tender nuzzling to the shuttle's neck-cables and a digit-tracing on the Autobot symbol which was proudly displayed on the upper portion of the white cockpit. Skyfire knew enough of Starscream's antics to recognize the double-edged gifts he were presented with; while serving as rather memorable experiences to be played and replayed, enough pleasure would bait him into halting his departure in a hope to reap more of them if he stayed at the Decepticon's side longer.

Ingenious a tactic as it was, his familiarity with Starscream's deceitful ways served as a reminder and alarm though he had to admit that it was still rather difficult to muster enough will to hold back the pleasant shudders, say goodbye and make haste for the exit. When he was back in the outer corridor and the main entrance of the brig area closed behind him, his intakes let out a heavy gush of heated air that he had been struggling to hold all the time he was in Starscream's presence. While knowing what the sleek jet-former was up to, it was still difficult to resist the primal desire he managed to invoke with mere touches. Shame for his weak will cooled his lust to a degree but his systems demanded a brief rest to return his functions so he stood there, one arm raised to his helm-level to support his leaning against the wall. Internal fans activated themselves to help his cooling systems coped with the temperature rise, the heat his emotions produced being dissipated into the surrounding air. Skyfire's arousal was not too intense yet that he did not need overload to neutralize his building up charges so he simply let his systems went into half-dormancy to further help the process, his meta-processors hovering between the gray area of waking and recharging...

"Skyfire, what are you doing?"

A young and familiar voice snapped him back to full activation. His head turned to the side, where Bumblebee's voice seemed to come from. The yellow scout was looking up at him when the larger mech directed his gaze downwards. His small servo was only enough to reach the top of the decorative projection on his knee plating even at full stretch, but he was touching the non-too-sensitive part nonetheless in his effort to rouse the giant flyer. He had not felt the poke but his sensitive audios did catch the minibot's call.

"Bumblebee?"

"What are you doing?" he repeated, then a realization dawned on him upon hearing the slightly staticy tone in Skyfire's call of his name, "You aren't recharging, are you?"

"Almost," was his simple reply; he did not like lying if it wasn't necessary and the symptoms were just too obvious anyway, "I am merely powering down to recover my normal functioning states."

"...In the corridor...?"

_Oops_ was the first word that crossed his CPU upon noticing Bumblebee's intrigue. His situation was still salvageable, though it required a little...truth-twisting. "I've been...disturbed...by Starscream's behaviours. I was angry and my systems were overheating but I'm alright now. The brief rest helps a lot."

"Oh, I see," the small mech said, a knowing grin forming on his lip-components, "Starscream's still being cranky after all."

Throughout the word exchanging, Skyfire was checking his chronometer – his half-recharge had elapsed for slightly over half a breem, which was longer than he initially thought. The Beetle had not arrived early to resume his duty; it was Skyfire himself who had overshot his intended power-down period.

"I have a buzzing that said Starscream will not pose as much trouble to you as he did me, though."

"Or he might get even worse. Too bad we can't give him coffee to remedy that."

Skyfire's optic ridge shot up; he could not see the connection between Starscream's fluctuating moods and the human's caffeinated beverage. Spotting the puzzlement dominant on the shuttle-former's faceplates, Bumblebee quickly explained, "Spike told me that his dad would be in bad mood as long as he didn't get his morning coffee...um, never mind." He gave up, realizing the possible complexity of explaining it to a mech who had less knowledge on the habits of the Earthlings, not to mention its obvious insignificance – most of the humans' processed food was inconsumable to the Transformers.

The bigger Autobot was indeed at loss but he was still interested in the topic. "Maybe that'll be the topic the next time I talk to the Witwickys."

"Well, I'm off back to duty!" and the yellow Beetle trotted off, through the doorway and into the place where Skyfire had just escaped from.

Skyfire did not wish to sprout more suspicion by being there so he moved on despite the silence ruling throughout his communication channel– he had indeed volunteered to help Ratchet in preparing the med-bay and it was already entering noon. Yet, the CMO had not contacted him to confirm the time of the operation. He had refuelled enough to last him the whole orn before he went to the brig in preparation for the call, and Starscream's wings awaited only Ratchet's readiness to be installed. Trusting the medic to relay the information when he deemed suitable, Skyfire was ready to retreat to his living quarter when he ran into Wheeljack. The Autobot inventor was rarely out of his workshop when he had nothing to demonstrate to his comrades, which was a source of puzzlement for Skyfire to see him out in the corridor.

"Ah, there you are! I've been meaning to find you!" the Lancia-former exclaimed before Skyfire could offer his own thoughts to the other.

"Why? Is there something's wrong?" He asked though Skyfire doubted that this was the case – Wheeljack's head-fins had not been flashing that erratic patterns characteristic of his fear.

"I'm going to need your help if Starscream's going to get his wings back," he answered simply – and that was enough to hook the shuttle all the way to the med-bay.

The Lancia filled Skyfire on the information along the journey; it turned out that Ratchet had been too deprived of recharge to do anything with his usual perfectionist standard. Of course, if left to his own device it would require emergency stasis lock before the CMO would admit of being exhausted which was a fortunate thing that Wheeljack happened to notice his not-too-good state. It took some persuasions (arguments, to be precise) but the Autobot inventor had miraculously managed to get the medic to heed his advice albeit with some reluctance – the med-bay was a mess, he had said, and the operation ought to be done as soon as possible.

"And so you volunteer yourself to lend a servo," Skyfire concluded, simultaneously grateful for Wheeljack's willingness and feeling somewhat guilty at causing Ratchet's exhaustion. In this case, he was more than happy to participate in the med-bay tidying.

"I won't normally ask for help if it's something that I can do but time is a little short and...well..."

His sentence left hanging, Wheeljack let Skyfire's optics drew their own conclusion to what he was about to say. They were entering the med-bay was still far away from resembling a landfill, but for Ratchet's standard it was indeed a mess. The various fixing tools were already amassed upon one mobile table but it still needed rearranging for the upcoming surgery and the operation berth required checking for malfunction – it acted as a surface to lie down and more for within its complex build was housed emergency life support system. Starscream's good physical health might not need it but procedures were procedures – and Wheeljack was the most suitable in doing the maintenance work aside from the CMO himself.

"I'll be servicing the equipments," Wheeljack said while making his way towards the nearest berth, the treasured toolkit sub-spacing out of his pocket as he did. Soon he was lost in his own strange world, leaving Skyfire to figure out exactly what he could do.

The figuring-out process did not take long for there was plenty to be done. At one sweep it appeared to have little tidying to do but Skyfire's optics caught misplaces things here and there. The most obvious would be the working desk; a metal safe that he had not remembered ever seeing was occupying the bulk of the surface, datapads scattered around it in what might be poor attempt to clean the desk. He made his way there without really thinking, the mess calling for his attention. Most of the datapads were of the very old models, predating the time of the Ark's crash-landing. Intrigued of what information it might hold, he activated it; though feeling quite sinful at the slight intrusion, the shuttle-former took comfort in the assumption that anything of personal value would not be left in the open. The virtual screen materialized and the large flyer was momentarily stunned as an unexpected content came into display – numerous models of flight-capable designs met his optics. There was his own model, of course, but predominating the data files were those akin to Starscream, the Seekers. There were bookmark icons blazing on the upper left-hand corner on those Seeker models, which shouted hints of Ratchet's intention in retrieving it from the safe. Still dazed by the shock, Skyfire deactivated it and reached for another one, and another, and another; all of them contained information on flying Cybertronians and all of the most Seeker-like were bookmarked. A confusing mix of gratitude and even stronger guilt assaulted his Spark when he realized what the Chief Medic was up to.

_Ratchet...I really didn't know that you'll go as far as this to help your patient_, Skyfire thought, sifting through the various study materials and finding similar contents in each that he had activated.

One new-looking datapad ensnared his focus from his lingering wonder. It didn't look even remotely neglected as the others, even; digit-prints were all over the cylindrical columns of the holder as if it had been activated numerous times. At first, Skyfire was reluctant to peek at its content but his natural curiousity proved to be superior to his carefulness. Despite the nagging feeling that this was something that he should not put his servos upon, he took it and switched on the button. Popping onto the materialized screen was what seemed to be mundane report...except for one tiny detail.

There was his name typed upon it.

It was a short reading but it was all it took for Skyfire to realize that he had been clouded from the real truth all this while – that he owed his activation to the wrong mechs all along. He was not sure yet why, but it seemed that Wheeljack had lots of explaining to do.

"Wheeljack."

His call was not very loud but it was enough to reach said Autobot; the sternness and subtle demand contained within his normally controlled voice ensured immediate response from the other, who instantly dropped his tools and shifted his attention from the bared circuitries of a monitoring machine to the shuttle at the opposite corner of the med-bay.

"What's it, Skyfire?" he managed before his optic dropped to the datapad being held in the shuttle's large servo. His faceplates betrayed no emotion whatsoever but genuine curiousity. Skyfire was determined to change that.

"I know that you both will not lie unless for good reasons," he began while showing the held datapad before the other's faceplates, choosing his words carefully to sound demanding enough to coax out whatever truth that he and Ratchet had been keeping from him but not too much so that he would stress out his friend, "but I need to know what _exactly _happened that orn you and Sideswipe unearthed me from the ice. And why this request form is in Ratchet's care, not yours. "

It was rare for Wheeljack to fidget unless he was facing with Ironhide but in this instant, Skyfire's optics were enough to make him quail like a naughty Sparkling under his creator's gaze. He knew the shuttle enough that his pursuit would not be abandoned unless he had failed or succeeded; there would be no getting out of this situation before he answered the questions asked. Perhaps it was for the better – Skyfire deserved to know the truth in any case...With a resigned huff through his vents, he took the datapad from the flyer's hold and let his optics wander upon the words on the screen, as if doing so would refresh the memories.

"I thought that you did so because you need my flight capability," Skyfire added to aid the Lancia further in his recollection. He was referring to his role in shipping the Autobot troops to Peru to thwart the Decepticon's scheme to drain the Earth of its energy.

"Partly, but this report was not submitted nor approved after we were informed of the Decepticon's activity."

Skyfire's Spark gave a hopeful twinge at this. "So it was Ratchet all along..."

The smaller Autobot nodded his agreement. "It is. He thought that there is a chance that you could survive the blast and the burial after all, though we weren't very convinced at first. He was...cautiously optimistic that there was hope and so proposed the idea to Prime."

"But, why the secrecy? I remain grateful to you and Sideswipe for saving me, but why make me think that it was your idea and not Ratchet's?" Skyfire couldn't help the note of urgency from bleeding into his voice but he needed to know. He needed confirmation of the wild guess now swirling around in his processors, whispering hope and desire into his very systems.

"He thought it was the right thing to do," Wheeljack said; his digits were now fiddling with the datapad's frame to distract himself from the awkwardness of the situation, "Though I have to say, it's unnecessary. He didn't want you to know that he had something to do with the mission. He didn't want you to have the clue..."

Wheeljack's sentence suddenly trailed off as he neared towards the conclusion; he was about to break the promise that he had made to Ratchet the astrosecond he made it back to the cold Arctic in the hope to save the mech now standing before him.

"Clue to what?"

Skyfire's patience was running thin by now, hinted by the desperate, almost pleading tone he used when he said these – and the Lancia found it fruitless to hold it back any longer. He was tired of seeing the facades of neutrality the medic adorned every time the shuttle was nearby. Another steadying intake was inhaled as he prepared himself to make the revelation, hoping fervently all the while that the medic would not punish him too severely for it, he began, "Well, you see..."

And Ratchet's most dearly-held secret was finally revealed to the very mech that was supposed to be kept secret from.

**XxXxXxXxXx**

Astrotrain was not stupid – he had told himself of this every time he received a scolding or two from Megatron, convincing himself that no one could understand the massive potential he held. Truth to be told, he thought that he would do a significantly better job in leading the Decepticons than Lord Megatron himself but knew that he would never manage far enough step before that damnable pet Soundwave got wind of his plan and ruined it all. He might try his servos at leading an army one orn but for now, he contented himself in playing the good boy and did nothing with the warlord. Which was why, even as his nerve clusters tingled after nearly a quartex of inactivity, he suppressed the urge to barrage into the Autobot's territory with inward grumbles that were heard only occasionally by another triple-changer, Blitzwing. He was just as anxious to get himself an enemy or two to shoot at but Megatron had not approved of any outing save for the routine patrol and, the Constructicons, strangely enough.

Stranger even was the fact that they had not been in direct confrontations with the Autobots for far too long to be ignored. By unavoidable meetings or merely Megatron's bloodlust to seek an excuse to clash with Prime, they rarely went longer than five orns before getting their servos battle-dirty. However, he took comfort in seeing Soundwave's almost constant presence in the Command Centre, hoping that something ingenuously evil was concocting in his wicked processors for those Autobots to face. If that was the case, he was more than happy to wait for the time when Megatron would command his force to finally mobilize. Still, until that moment presented itself, all there was to do was wait, and wait, and wait some more – which was the thing Astrotrain was doing in the mess hall right now, with Blitzwing already halfway into total inebriation.

Astrotrain prided himself on his ability to hold himself together quite well against high grades and it was a well-deserved pride; he had downed three large cubes, the same quantity as those consumed by the other triple-changer, but his processors were still considerably efficient. He had already cracked his fourth cube when he suddenly realized that the mess hall had a newcomer, and one that he was not quite looking forward to. At the entrance was the visored mech that nobody had dared to challenge on the simple basis of being Megatron's prized personnel, and also because of his telepathic ability; Soundwave did indeed enjoy a base-wide respect because of both, but they were also the reasons why Astrotrain did not really got along with the mech. His simple presence clouded Megatron's optics from seeing what the triple-changer was truly capable of other than grunt works.

"What d'you want?" he hollered from his seat, pointedly ignoring the fact that doing so to a superior was considered rude. Blitzwing snickered approvingly at the lack of respect, he having quite the same motivation to behave like his friend.

The telepathic mech had quite a few experiences dealing with others the likes of these two triple-changers and so took no offense at their rudeness. His motive was clear as he approached the not-quite-right-in-the-CPUs mechs and that was to give Astrotrain his job – and perhaps Blitzwing too once he had sobered enough.

"Astrotrain's presence required in the cargo bay. Reason: Loading of energon cubes for delivery to the Space Bridge's site."

Blitzwing proceeded to snicker once Soundwave was done with his order while Astrotrain let out a dissatisfied groan at the thought of so much works that awaited him. He did not like the thought of being used for manual labours yet again but there was a good chance that this particular order came from the Higher-Up – anything that Soundwave issued was usually so.

"Guess it's A.S.A.P thing, huh? Load 'em up and fly 'em off?"

"Negative. No departure unless Megatron's approval obtained. Short notice leave probable," Soundwave said, holding up a servo in denial to Astrotrain's previous assumption. There was a slight pause when he turned to regard the other, more uselessly-inebriated Decepticon and the visor glowed briefly in what would amount to disgust-induced optic-flickering. Then, as if as an afterthought, he added, "Blitzwing's help required in the cargo loading. Subject is expected to return to duty once systems are neutralized from over-energizing."

There were protests coming from both of the triple-changers but Soundwave did not wait for them finished their ranting before leaving; even as they cussed loudly under the influence of the high grades they had been consuming, the navy-and-white mech had already taken his leave. There were far worthier things to be done than listening to their complaints...like synchronizing Megatron's plans before the execution. Besides, he had left his post for far too long for his liking; he had done it out of desperation to find the triple-changers who, in their delighting in the high-grades, had completely ignored the many calls Soundwave had sent to their comm. channels.

An empty Command Centre waited for him when Soundwave entered – empty except for the prominent silver figure bent over one of the many consoles of the main computer, seemingly trying to get himself absorbed into the Nemesis's systems. Megatron had lost some of his accumulated edginess today as Soundwave's perception had detected, perhaps because he was nearer to doing something than just waiting for the right intelligence to be gathered, which did not sit well at all with his nature. There was still a little waiting to be done if the plan was to be carried out in the pre-arranged manner but the warlord could be trusted to wait just a few more joors after nearly crashing his systems down from inactivity all these while.

"Ah, Soundwave," the gun-former greeted once he realized that he was not alone in there. "Status?"

Said lieutenant stepped up towards his leader, quite at ease himself that there was no looming threat of the warlord's anger to be unleashed upon that his sixth sense could pick up. "Energon cubes are being loaded aboard the transporter. Astrotrain awaits your order to depart once he is finished with the task."

"And Starscream? "

The reason for this question was evident enough for Soundwave to decipher since Megatron did indeed knew about the surgery that Starscream was about to go through. The cassette-player had been at odds with himself in calculating its significance whether or not it merited to be informed towards the leader. In the end, despite his worry for his well-being and Megatron's already-suffering mentality, he had decided that it was a too big event anyway to hope that the gun-former would not notice about it and spilled this little bit of sensitive intelligence to Megatron. Surprisingly, the latter had accepted this with less fuss than Soundwave had anticipated –probably because of the fact that he never mentioned Skyfire's involvement in the whole thing since he did see neither the significance nor benefits if he had done otherwise.

A wave of disappointment emanated from the ex-gladiator when Soundwave reported of the inevitable delay in its proceeding, explaining with carefully chosen words that it was due to the waiting in the right approval to carry on.

"Did Prime know about our delivery?" And instantly, any thought regarding Starscream was pushed to the backseat; Soundwave had already established the importance of getting back their Air Commander back to the safety of the Nemesis to Megatron, but the gun-former was still aware his responsibility towards his home planet and his self-appointed role as its saviour, recognizing thus the need to ensure the energon cubes being sent safely to Shockwave. He might be gambling with luck to achieve two things at one go, but it was a risk worth taking in the warlord's CPU or he would rather not have it this way at all.

"Possible presences of Autobot scouts at the perimeter; confirmed detection of individuals unsuccessful. Verdict: General Autobots might not be aware of the Space Bridge's existence."

Layers of thoughts enveloped the warlord's meta-processors as he began processing the information, once again attempting to fit his plan into the scenario. While it was undesirable for the Autobots to make their appearances, it was not totally unexpected; there had been instances when their plan was so close to fruitation and suddenly, somehow, Optimus had managed to smell out their activities and thwart the Decepticons at the very last astrosecond.

It was upon these assumptions that Megatron eventually issued after a few kliks of deep thinking, "Inform me when Scrapper had reported in. Send Astrotrain out when they've done with the Space Bridge; no Constructicons are to leave their posts until the energon cubes have been sent to Cybertron. I don't want those slagging Autobots got the better of us because they put down their guards."

"Affirmative, Lord Megatron."

For an astrosecond, the Decepticon Supreme Commander seemed as if he was done giving out commands to his Communication Expert; he had turned on his pede, obviously intending for the throne, when he halted mid-spin and looked over his shoulder struts, a long-suppressed malice glinting in his optics. In the lights of the place, it gave him a quiet look of a killer ready to pounce into action when he said the cold-sounding closure, "Prepare the rest of the Decepticons for battles. We'll barge in into the Ark if that what it takes to make it work."

Soundwave voiced out his monotone affirmative to the already-retreating back of his leader even as he suppressed the inward shiver washing in his systems as Megatron's murderous intentions assaulted his meta-processors in a sudden emotional tsunami. It was one desire that he had kept locked inside him for far too long in ensuring that his recklessness would not cost him his precious Second – and now, that same disastrous desire was going to be unleashed upon those unfortunate enough to stand in his way when he came to claim back what was his.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note: **Um..._

_I am so sorry for the looooooong hiatus, especially for those who have been following the story. I almost forgot about it myself... ._

_So, double upload as an apology?_

**_XxXxXxXxXx_**

Astrotrain was not stupid – he had told himself of this every time he received a scolding or two from Megatron, convincing himself that no one could understand the massive potential he held. Truth to be told, he thought that he would do a significantly better job in leading the Decepticons than Lord Megatron himself but knew that he would never manage far enough step before that damnable pet Soundwave got wind of his plan and ruined it all. He might try his servos at leading an army one orn but for now, he contented himself in playing the good boy and did nothing with the warlord. Which was why, even as his nerve clusters tingled after nearly a quartex of inactivity, he suppressed the urge to barrage into the Autobot's territory with inward grumbles that were heard only occasionally by another triple-changer, Blitzwing. He was just as anxious to get himself an enemy or two to shoot at but Megatron had not approved of any outing save for the routine patrol and, the Constructicons, strangely enough.

Stranger even was the fact that they had not been in direct confrontations with the Autobots for far too long to be ignored. By unavoidable meetings or merely Megatron's bloodlust to seek an excuse to clash with Prime, they rarely went longer than five orns before getting their servos battle-dirty. However, he took comfort in seeing Soundwave's almost constant presence in the Command Centre, hoping that something ingenuously evil was concocting in his wicked processors for those Autobots to face. If that was the case, he was more than happy to wait for the time when Megatron would command his force to finally mobilize. Still, until that moment presented itself, all there was to do was wait, and wait, and wait some more – which was the thing Astrotrain was doing in the mess hall right now, with Blitzwing already halfway into total inebriation.

Astrotrain prided himself on his ability to hold himself together quite well against high grades and it was a well-deserved pride; he had downed three large cubes, the same quantity as those consumed by the other triple-changer, but his processors were still considerably efficient. He had already cracked his fourth cube when he suddenly realized that the mess hall had a newcomer, and one that he was not quite looking forward to. At the entrance was the visored mech that nobody had dared to challenge on the simple basis of being Megatron's prized personnel, and also because of his telepathic ability; Soundwave did indeed enjoy a base-wide respect because of both, but they were also the reasons why Astrotrain did not really got along with the mech. His simple presence clouded Megatron's optics from seeing what the triple-changer was truly capable of other than grunt works.

"What d'you want?" he hollered from his seat, pointedly ignoring the fact that doing so to a superior was considered rude. Blitzwing snickered approvingly at the lack of respect, he having quite the same motivation to behave like his friend.

The telepathic mech had quite a few experiences dealing with others the likes of these two triple-changers and so took no offense at their rudeness. His motive was clear as he approached the not-quite-right-in-the-CPUs mechs and that was to give Astrotrain his job – and perhaps Blitzwing too once he had sobered enough.

"Astrotrain's presence required in the cargo bay. Reason: Loading of energon cubes for delivery to the Space Bridge's site."

Blitzwing proceeded to snicker once Soundwave was done with his order while Astrotrain let out a dissatisfied groan at the thought of so much works that awaited him. He did not like the thought of being used for manual labours yet again but there was a good chance that this particular order came from the Higher-Up – anything that Soundwave issued was usually so.

"Guess it's A.S.A.P thing, huh? Load 'em up and fly 'em off?"

"Negative. No departure unless Megatron's approval obtained. Short notice leave probable," Soundwave said, holding up a servo in denial to Astrotrain's previous assumption. There was a slight pause when he turned to regard the other, more uselessly-inebriated Decepticon and the visor glowed briefly in what would amount to disgust-induced optic-flickering. Then, as if as an afterthought, he added, "Blitzwing's help required in the cargo loading. Subject is expected to return to duty once systems are neutralized from over-energizing."

There were protests coming from both of the triple-changers but Soundwave did not wait for them finished their ranting before leaving; even as they cussed loudly under the influence of the high grades they had been consuming, the navy-and-white mech had already taken his leave. There were far worthier things to be done than listening to their complaints...like synchronizing Megatron's plans before the execution. Besides, he had left his post for far too long for his liking; he had done it out of desperation to find the triple-changers who, in their delighting in the high-grades, had completely ignored the many calls Soundwave had sent to their comm. channels.

An empty Command Centre waited for him when Soundwave entered – empty except for the prominent silver figure bent over one of the many consoles of the main computer, seemingly trying to get himself absorbed into the Nemesis's systems. Megatron had lost some of his accumulated edginess today as Soundwave's perception had detected, perhaps because he was nearer to doing something than just waiting for the right intelligence to be gathered, which did not sit well at all with his nature. There was still a little waiting to be done if the plan was to be carried out in the pre-arranged manner but the warlord could be trusted to wait just a few more joors after nearly crashing his systems down from inactivity all these while.

"Ah, Soundwave," the gun-former greeted once he realized that he was not alone in there. "Status?"

Said lieutenant stepped up towards his leader, quite at ease himself that there was no looming threat of the warlord's anger to be unleashed upon that his sixth sense could pick up. "Energon cubes are being loaded aboard the transporter. Astrotrain awaits your order to depart once he is finished with the task."

"And Starscream? "

The reason for this question was evident enough for Soundwave to decipher since Megatron did indeed knew about the surgery that Starscream was about to go through. The cassette-player had been at odds with himself in calculating its significance whether or not it merited to be informed towards the leader. In the end, despite his worry for his well-being and Megatron's already-suffering mentality, he had decided that it was a too big event anyway to hope that the gun-former would not notice about it and spilled this little bit of sensitive intelligence to Megatron. Surprisingly, the latter had accepted this with less fuss than Soundwave had anticipated –probably because of the fact that he never mentioned Skyfire's involvement in the whole thing since he did see neither the significance nor benefits if he had done otherwise.

A wave of disappointment emanated from the ex-gladiator when Soundwave reported of the inevitable delay in its proceeding, explaining with carefully chosen words that it was due to the waiting in the right approval to carry on.

"Did Prime know about our delivery?" And instantly, any thought regarding Starscream was pushed to the backseat; Soundwave had already established the importance of getting back their Air Commander back to the safety of the Nemesis to Megatron, but the gun-former was still aware his responsibility towards his home planet and his self-appointed role as its saviour, recognizing thus the need to ensure the energon cubes being sent safely to Shockwave. He might be gambling with luck to achieve two things at one go, but it was a risk worth taking in the warlord's CPU or he would rather not have it this way at all.

"Possible presences of Autobot scouts at the perimeter; confirmed detection of individuals unsuccessful. Verdict: General Autobots might not be aware of the Space Bridge's existence."

Layers of thoughts enveloped the warlord's meta-processors as he began processing the information, once again attempting to fit his plan into the scenario. While it was undesirable for the Autobots to make their appearances, it was not totally unexpected; there had been instances when their plan was so close to fruitation and suddenly, somehow, Optimus had managed to smell out their activities and thwart the Decepticons at the very last astrosecond.

It was upon these assumptions that Megatron eventually issued after a few kliks of deep thinking, "Inform me when Scrapper had reported in. Send Astrotrain out when they've done with the Space Bridge; no Constructicons are to leave their posts until the energon cubes have been sent to Cybertron. I don't want those slagging Autobots got the better of us because they put down their guards."

"Affirmative, Lord Megatron."

For an astrosecond, the Decepticon Supreme Commander seemed as if he was done giving out commands to his Communication Expert; he had turned on his pede, obviously intending for the throne, when he halted mid-spin and looked over his shoulder struts, a long-suppressed malice glinting in his optics. In the lights of the place, it gave him a quiet look of a killer ready to pounce into action when he said the cold-sounding closure, "Prepare the rest of the Decepticons for battles. We'll barge in into the Ark if that what it takes to make it work."

Soundwave voiced out his monotone affirmative to the already-retreating back of his leader even as he suppressed the inward shiver washing in his systems as Megatron's murderous intentions assaulted his meta-processors in a sudden emotional tsunami. It was one desire that he had kept locked inside him for far too long in ensuring that his recklessness would not cost him his precious Second – and now, that same disastrous desire was going to be unleashed upon those unfortunate enough to stand in his way when he came to claim back what was his.

_**XxXxXxXxXx**_

The alarm had not been set off but the Ark's interior had that same sense of emergency nevertheless. Despite being a spaceship, it as a whole was reminiscent of one very large organism with its components constantly being aware of each other – in this case, the components were the residents themselves, and whatever news that one received would quickly being passed around. Thus, no information could be really kept secret for far too long whether it was Bumblebee's embarrassing moments in the shower, Wheeljack's so-called top secret project or a surgery to restore Starscream's form to its original winged state.

There was no certainty as to whom the news started to leak but it did – and there was no point to cover it up once vocalizers started talking. Quiet discontent spread among the Autobots but none of them had had the tenacity to make an open protest about it, seeing that it had Optimus Prime's approval after all. That did not mean that questions did not being asked but the Autobot Supreme Commander answered each and every one of them with great patience and understanding, occasionally sighing in exhaustion, but never so much as raising his volume an octave or two. Ratchet himself got his share in facing the public about this debatable step but his was far smaller than those of his leader's, partly because of the awesome power of his wrench and his legendary skill in turning it into a boomerang. His earlier recharge, which his systems only break by late yesterday's evening, helped in recovering his lost strength when facing with the claustrophobic Seeker but the answering drained him like joors of repairing injuries did. The surgery could not be delayed anymore though, and after a couple of times checking on Starscream's condition and finding him fit for it, he relented to go with the plan after these few gulps of reenergizing energon in the recharge hall to help him get through with the upcoming operation.

The Chief Medical Officer was not alone in there – there were Cliffjumper, Windcharger and Trailbreaker too – but he sat alone at his chosen table. The others had pestered and coaxed Ratchet previously about the issue circulating in the Ark but they had been responded with rather general answers and had decided that a second round of interrogation would yield pretty much the same result. While gifted with a few kliks of _My Alone_ time, Ratchet used it to reflect on his situation. He was sure that his medical expertise plus the studying would be sufficient to carry it out but the medic was not exactly sure about the uneasiness stirring in his circuitries. It had seemed like a right step back when he proposed it; now, the operation looked as if based on the most unprofessional reasons he had ever came up with. Sure, the cause for his action was reasonable as he had told the Prime, but deep down in his Spark, he knew that it was much more than that.

"What's happening to you, Ratchet? You act like a...a naive vornling, for Primus's sake!" He whispered at the distorted reflection of himself in the cube of energon he was holding.

Ratchet received no answer from the non-sentient image; the faceplates looking back at him was one with an _I'm alright_ mask on, shielding the real personality behind it. Truthfully, he felt pathetic. Nothing he did seemed right for the moment and nothing that he could think of seemed to be able to get him back to his pedes. He was certain that nobody dared to interfere him during his refuel, which was why when another faceplates appeared on the surface of the energon, he jerked back in surprise.

"And I suppose staring at the energon would somehow help you absorb it?"

Looking up, Ratchet saw that it was his friend Wheeljack – which was not exactly a surprise, once his processors grasped at the fact that no Autobots dared to do stunts like that. His vents huffed in irritation but he did not protest it when the Lancia pulled out a seat facing his own and joined him, though he did not have any energon cube in sight – Wheeljack never refuelled in public, doing it either in his workshop or in his living quarters.

"Skyfire's in the common room, if you're looking for him," Wheeljack began, leaning back and making himself comfortable.

"Thanks. I am going to when I'm finished," and gestured towards the cube before him in emphasis.

In a suddenly conspiratorial atmosphere, Wheeljack leaned his torso forward and let his optics pierce Ratchet's dim ones like a probing laser beam, instantly recognizing that something was bothering the medic. "Uh-oh, I know that look. What's wrong, Ratch?"

He had not said it loud enough that the other Autobots could hear it but Ratchet was not taking any chance. The look he gave was perfectly understandable to Wheeljack who, like Optimus and Ironhide, had learnt his body languages well. Ratchet wanted to wait for them to leave first, which they were getting to anyway for their cubes had all been finished. In a few kliks, the three mechs deserted the refuel hall for Ratchet and Wheeljack to have for themselves and only then did the CMO answered:

"I'm just worried. What if...what I'm doing is wrong?"

"Well, it's too late to call it back now," his friend said matter-of-factly, "and besides, you said yourself that without this, Starscream's might gone even crazier."

It was the reason he repeated over and over again whenever asked of it. He wanted to believe it badly but it was hard to be convinced that it was genuinely the original cause of his action. Wheeljack had a point though; he had already passed the point of no return, and whatever that would happen after this, he would have to bear as his responsibility.

"I don't have much choice now, do I?" Ratchet's vents exhaled out a sigh, knowing the answer to that question. "Then, I better hurry things along."

"Good idea. And oh, the med-bay has been prepared as promised; the wing sections are on the main operation table. I've also put the transport berth in the brig for you to save your time."

The medic nodded his thanks towards Wheeljack, acknowledging his contribution in easing his burden, and stood up in preparation to leave. It was at that moment that he saw that brief pulses Wheeljack's head-fins made and the consequent call of his name was almost inaudible to his audios.

"Wait, Ratchet..."

"What?"

Wheeljack seemed as if having fire lighted up under his aft – there was no mistaking of him fidgeting as he shifted around in his seat in an attempt to make himself feels comfortable. Seeing him like this, a buzzing rose in Ratchet's logic circuits.

"Don't tell me that you've broken any of my tools..."

"No, not that. It's just..." Perhaps it was the almost-frightening undivided attention that Ratchet gave him, or perhaps it was something else entirely, Wheeljack lost his words the closer he got to the point. Finally, he settled it with, "Never mind. It's nothing important."

"Are you sure? Mind you, if you HAVE bent so much as a screw in my med-bay –"

"– No, really. You shouldn't be bothered about it. And your med-bay is just the way it is, I swear."

Ratchet let his optics rest on Wheeljack's partially-hidden faceplates while prodding the other for an expression of dishonesty. With the face-mask on, it was hard to tell aside from the nervous flickers his head-fins occasionally gave, but that could be because of many factors to be sure of which one. Eventually, he admitted defeat albeit with uncertainty in doing so and shrugged, "Alright, I take your swearing. Anything else you want to spill before I go?"

"Just this: My best wishes for the surgery."

The CMO actually chuckled because of this. The frown that had been born from his previous suspicion was smothered by the small smile tugging at his lip-components when he finally left the refuel hall and Wheeljack in it. The common room was halfway from the Ark's main entrance and it worth only a few kliks of slow walking from the hall. Several Autobots passed him along the way but none spoke of the topic that had been hot just a joor ago, probably because the answers that Optimus gave to them travelled as fast as the initial news about it spread. When he entered the common room, he was not surprised to see that its occupants were only Skyfire and the Witwickys, apparently having light conversations. While the shuttle-former's auditory capability was enough to caught on the words Spike said, for the sake of minimizing their size difference, he was bent forward in the younger human's direction so that he sat with half of his usual height; Sparkplug was laughing at a comment that his son gave and replied back just as cheekily, gesturing towards the thermos he held in one hand. A black liquid was pouring out of it and into the cup-turned cap – 'coffee', if Ratchet remembered correctly what Sparkplug had called it – and from the few words that reached his audios, Ratchet assumed that their chat revolves around the human's beverage.

Ratchet contemplated for the best way to interrupt them but was spared from the need; Skyfire noticed his entry from the sounds of his pede-steps alone, thanks to his sensitive hearing. Noticing that the Autobot was distracted, Spike and Sparkplug too stopped their conversations to find the source and waved at him once they recognized the newcomer as the medic himself. Ratchet approached them but did not take his seat, exchanging light words with the humans before he shifted his focus to the white flyer, an optic ridge arched in puzzlement.

"I don't know that you're interested in human's nutrition too, Skyfire."

"Not usually," he replied. Although the sentence sounded business-like, there was amusement too in his tone which hinted of the informality of their discussion. "Bumblebee once mentioned an interesting effect this drink has when not consumed at a habitual time, so I decide to see if it's true."

"No argument there. I'd rather bash an entire troop of Decepticons than working with a coffee-deprived Sparkplug." Skyfire's mood proved infectious especially when Ratchet was reminded of the drastic difference his human friend had before and after having his routine coffee consumption.

"Hey, that's superficial! I'm not _that _cranky without this baby," Sparkplug laughed while raising his cup to show the swirling dark liquid in it before sipping at it a little.

"Yeah, right. You couldn't get a job done before having your morning coffee, Dad," Spike thumped his father lightly on the shoulder.

"Say, speaking of job, I've heard that you're going to give that Screamer some modifications. Is it true?" The father was directing this question to Ratchet naturally and from the worried expression now dominating his face, he too had heard the news, albeit with what kind of twist was beyond Ratchet's guess.

"Right. Well, not modifications, really; more like restorations. Which is why I'm coming here," his small smile faded as both the burden of pessimistic thinking and professionalism responsibility took control from the brief relaxation he just had with the humans. "Skyfire, you realize that I'm making you my assistant for this?"

"Of course. When do we start?"

"Now."

Skyfire was not surprised at the sudden seriousness that surrounded the CMO; rather, he seemed to expect it for his reaction was merely a nod of acknowledgement. Excusing himself from the humans' company, adding that he would like to chat more with them some other time, he then followed the medic out from the common room. And again, that feeling of being overwhelmed by Skyfire's sheer size assaulted Ratchet's systems as they walked along the corridor. To distract himself, he contacted Ironhide, Brawn, Bluestreak, Jazz and the Twins via the comm. link to get ready at the brig, they being designated as the official escorts in transporting the Decepticon from his prison to the med-bay. All of them responded with affirmatives (Ratchet had to remind Brawn NOT to provoke Starscream in any way, knowing the minibot's attitude towards Decepticons and the surgery in general) and said that they would do as was told until Ratchet arrived for further instruction. He also reported to Optimus Prime, Prowl and Red Alert of his status and receiving the green light from all of them in return (Red Alert sounded not too happy about it, though).

As he cut off his link from the Security Director after receiving his approval, Ratchet instantly realized that he had failed to keep himself from dwelling on the fact that Skyfire was trailing behind him and cursed inwardly at his weakness. The flyer had always had this effect on the medic, only it had intensified ever since Starscream's intrusion into his life to the point that Ratchet found it at the edge of his ability to keep his faceplates straight. The silence did not help either; every pede-fall sounded as if tenfold louder than they should. Ratchet wished that Skyfire would say something – he could focus on his words instead of his intoxicating presence then, but the shuttle was strangely quiet. Not that he was a talkative mech normally, but he was not usually this mouth-zipped either. When the door to the brig area finally came into view, Ratchet struggled with himself from showing his relief – he partially succeeded because he managed to act normal except for the quiet exhalation from his vents, though he doubted it that Skyfire would notice.

They were about an arm's length from the entrance when Ratchet was halted by the gentle drop of servo on his shoulder-strut. The grasp was not strong but it insisted Ratchet to face the other so he complied. He could not help the sudden increase in his Spark-pulse even though he was not sure why his chassis would react so, masking the unexplained nervousness with a calm "What is it, Skyfire?"

The optics that gazed down at him were trying to hide – and failing – a storm of uncertainty that almost mirrored Ratchet's own. Bowing slightly so that their height differences were not too pronounced, this posture also brought Skyfire's faceplates closer to his shorter companion and revealed a strange expression upon it, despite the small smile on Skyfire's lip-components.

"Ratchet, I..." But Skyfire was stopped from whatever new thought that crossed his CPU. It bothered Ratchet that this hesitation was almost identical to those displayed earlier by Wheeljack. He waited patiently for the larger Autobot to continue, the pause stretching for almost a klik before Skyfire whispered, "Thank you. For everything."

Ratchet realized that it was not exactly what Skyfire had originally intended to say but was modified halfway before he could get it out. Still, there was something...different about this _thank you_ than Skyfire's previous ones; not only that the tone was...quieter, the way he said it held an emotion that Ratchet could not quite put his digit at. He would have insisted that Skyfire said what it was truthfully but on a second's thought, he had a more important thing to be done and forcing Skyfire to say what he did not want had been proven a vain pursuit. "Uh...No problem."

The grip on his shoulder-strut tightened slightly before the large digits left their hold, almost as if the owner was reluctant to break contact. Ratchet persuaded himself that such opinion was only born out of his overactive imagination to keep his neutrality in check – and he quickly turned around before he did something stupid. The entrance gaped open for the duo to step in and found that the other Autobot-escorts were lounging on whatever chairs that they managed to grab while waiting for the Chief Medic to arrive. Jazz, ever the quickest, stood up instantly when Ratchet and Skyfire made their entries, his gun already held in the ready position. The others immediately followed suit, sub-spacing out their guns with their digits already resting on the trigger.

"So, what's da' plan, Doc?" The Porsche asked; despite his cheerful tone, Ratchet realized that he was as serious as he could be about the task waiting ahead.

While Ratchet took on the responsibility in explaining the procedures to the would-be escorts, Skyfire busied himself in locating the transportation berth that had been placed earlier in there by Wheeljack. He found it tucked up neatly in the storage room, brought it out and activated its anti-gravity application. The berth hummed slightly as the generator was started before it rose from the floor, maintaining a steady hover at knee-high. As an extra precaution, the shuttle checked its other systems as well, just in case that Wheeljack might miss a malfunction though it was unlikely, given the time that the inventor had spent in ensuring that it was in trustable order. He finished the task just as Ratchet was done with his and beckoned for the berth to be brought forth.

"Skyfire and I are going into the cell. Now, what we are going to do is that we have to get Starscream to lay on this berth," Ratchet told the others, gesturing towards said equipment as he spoke, "and cuffed him to it. While the pede-cuff is not going off BEFORE he is secured, I'd rather not take chances so DON'T LET YOUR GUARDS DOWN. Understood?"

Murmured confirmation came from the Autobots, with Jazz exclaiming rather jubilantly, "Gotta no problem with that!" Ratchet wrestled with the rising desire to smile at the saboteur's capacity to keep a cool processor in just about any kind of situation he was in. And since this was the most vulnerable process in the entire operation, the CMO appointed him and Ironhide as the guards who would follow them into the cell for safety monitoring, seeing that their skills in both shooting and close-ranged combats surpassed the others. Immediately, they took their positions at either side of the prison's still-barred entrance, their sensors tuned in for signs of trouble and their laser guns ready to remedy them.

Starscream, who had been unnervingly silent and unmoving throughout Ratchet's explanation, followed the Autobots' movements with his optics, cautious and alert at the sudden busyness in his usually activity-deprived he had been informed of the reinstallation of his wings, the sudden increase in the brig's population was putting the Seeker on edge as displayed by the hostile expression on his faceplates. Every so often though, the red optics would subtly steal a glance at Skyfire when he presumed that others were not looking, but Ratchet noticed this nevertheless. The ugly head of jealousy tried to rear out from the depth of his Spark when he realized that the shuttle did the same but personal feelings were forcibly pushed down in the face of something as important and dangerous as this – besides, what could he do about it?

"All set an' ready, Ratchet," Ironhide reported – and just like that, the medic's momentary processors-drift was shattered. Looking around for confirmation, the Autobots were indeed ready to proceed, each of them standing abreast and with their weapons cocked forward.

"Deactivate the energy bars," Ratchet ordered and was swiftly complied; in mere astroseconds their way in was clear after the right passwords and voice confirmation were given.

Jazz and Ironhide led the way; the medic walked behind them with the berth and Skyfire in tow. Where there was sense of urgency before, it was now replaced with palpable quietness as the distance between the crew and Starscream shortened. Anything could happen in a Spark-pulse and dealing with the likes of Starscream, the danger tripled than if they were dealing with some other Decepticon soldiers. Though wingless and stripped of all his glory, Megatron's Second refused to retreat nor avert his optics from the Autobots, retaining all the genetic pride of a Seeker and the confidence that his life conditioned him even though gun-nozzles were pointed in his direction.

"You will come with us peacefully," Ratchet announced. His voice, strong and authoritative, carried around in the brig area and echoed his words back in blurred repetition, "And you will attempt no escape or offensive actions."

A corner of Starscream's lip-components quirked slightly in what seemed to be the beginning of a snarl. Tension escalated at this subtle signs of hostility, metallic creaks sounding from the laser guns as their owners tightened their grips on them. In the midst of this cold war, again Ratchet noted the split-astrosecond jump that the Seeker's optics made, shifting his gaze to exclude the rest of the Autobots from his vision and focusing on only one particular individual. The heat of jealousy that washed his circuitries was shocking since Ratchet had been convinced that he had himself under control by now.

"You will do better to do as told."

This new voice, as commanding as Ratchet's had been, was from Skyfire, surprisingly. That his sterner side was so rarely being revealed contributed to the surprise the other mechs could not help from showing, however subtly they did so – Even Starscream was taken aback by the shuttle-former's strictness and took a step backwards in alarm. The Seeker was at odds in letting himself at the mercy of the Autobots or being his naturally rebellious self. Eventually, the former won Starscream's decision after a few nanokliks of weighing the options and consequences and he suffered himself to be led to the berth by the guards.

"Lie down. Put your servos and pedes in the slots at the berth's edges."

The glare that Starscream gave felt as if it was intense enough to deactivate mechs for the Decepticon was uncomfortable at being ordered around but he relented – so far. The medic's instruction left him lying on his back with his servos at his sides and his legs parted slightly. Said slots readjusted to fit his snugly limbs – and then, energy bands appeared from hidden projectors to wind themselves rounds the wrists and pedes, securing the flyer to the berth's surface. Starscream gave a shock-angry growl when it first happened but Jazz's and Ironhide's weapons motivated him to force himself to calm down, albeit doing so without changing the hatred-filled looks he wore in his optics.

"You understand that we have to take every cautionary step to prevent unwanted events."

To this, Starscream spat out angrily, "Slag you." His optics now glowed murderously in the dimness of the place.

"You won't be harmed," Ratchet replied with a calmness that contradicted the Decepticon's fiery discontent, "Unless you give us reasons to."

It was fairly easy after that. Ratchet was still at the head of the berth and Skyfire was walking on the opposite side – Jazz and Ironhide were at the forefront with the other escorts positioned all around Starscream. They left the brig quickly for the longer they were in the open, the greater the chance for the Decepticon to make his escape; bound as he were, there was no telling the vastness of Starscream's cunningness reservoir. The route towards the med-bay was also deserted of other Autobots, a safety measure as suggested earlier by Red Alert himself. It was not a very long walk, but thanks to the foreboding sense that danger was lurking behind every corner, the kliks crawled by at excruciatingly slow pace. The edginess engulfed the crew at the maximum level when crossing the open space between the Ark to the building of the med-bay, especially so when Starscream's longing for the freedom triggered an involuntary struggle against the restraints. Ratchet had never been endowed with the affinity for the sky and so could only imagine what it felt like to be denied of the one thing you were basically created for, but the low wail that the Seeker gave when they entered the safety of the med-bay was Sparkbreaking enough to coax out his pity. It did not require a psychic Cybertronian to interpret the great sorrow contained within his vocalizations.

Once inside, the escorts filed out at the entrance, forming a barrier of armed mechs that prevented Starscream from escaping should the worst-case scenario happen. There left only Skyfire, Ratchet and Starscream now and as the shuttle steered the berth into the designated position, the Seeker took advantage of the distance between them and the escorts to hiss out at the Autobot ambulance, "You're mocking me, Autobot. Giving my wings back but confining me to this Unicron-cursed ground..."

"That's what _you _think. I'm only trying to help here."

Starscream was ready for full-blown bouts of argument when Skyfire came to the rescue. He did not even say anything, only putting a servo on the Seeker's cuffed one, his digits closing around the other's in an assuring grasp. It was enough to discourage a snarky comeback and Starscream relented to the shuttle's persuasion to keep his vocalizers shut. Having been calmed down, the Decepticon watched with great wariness every movement that Ratchet made because there was still doubt in his Spark to trust his safety in this Autobot's servos – he ceased struggling only because of Skyfire's presence.

The CMO easily ignored the hostile glares that were thrown in his direction, trusting that the enemy that had been sufficiently secured. There were the escorts, in any case. He silently thanked Wheeljack for arranging his med-bay into such neat order – his operation table was holding all the right tools for the job and the monitoring machine was already plugged in, waiting only to be connected to the patient. He did that immediately and observed Starscream's vital signs as a final check-up before proceeding.

"Looks like you're good to go," he concluded after a while of examining. "I'm going to key in the universal override codes. Don't fight it."

"You could just install the wings when I'm active. I'd prefer to be aware of things being done to me."

Ratchet sighed; it seemed that Starscream proved to be more irritating than his regular patients, and he thought that having to work with Red Alert's workaholic tendency or Ironhide's I-don't-need-repairs-thank-you habits were demanding enough. "I'm not some Kaon's backstreet medic to leave my patients awake for painful procedures."

Starscream did not further the debates, largely because Skyfire was constantly discouraging any act of defiance with touches and whispered words, though the Seeker was definitely not happy with the arrangement. He was still glowering when Ratchet programmed the override codes into his systems. In a few nanokliks, the programme set to work and Starscream's systems were put into forced recharge, rendering him harmless and unconscious for the next step. When movements ceased and the red optics finally lost their crimson light, Ratchet knew that the Seeker would be of no trouble for a while.

Ratchet glanced up and saw that Skyfire was releasing the servo that he had been holding. It was a time of professionalism, but the medic could not help the sorrow that visited him at this sight. Miraculously, this feeling was not directed at himself, whose own love was unnoticed and unreciprocated, but rather at the tragedy that befell these two lovers. It was a sad irony that they should start out as friends but ended up as inevitable enemies because of the Great War.

"We should get started," Skyfire said. This brought the medic back to reality where there were responsibilities to be burdened. The shuttle was working to undo the bindings so that they could flip the unconscious Seeker to his front to expose his back.

"Yes, we should."

The protective plating that had been sealed off would need to be detached so that circuitries between the chassis and the wings could be connected and Ratchet did this with great care once Starscream's chassis was in correct position. The part was layered with sensitive nerve clusters where slight mishandling could cause the Seeker great pain, and while Starscream was already safely in recharge by now, the Autobot was simply not Hook-like to be rough in any way with his patients even though it turned out to be a Decepticon. Now that his professional side had taken over his processors, Ratchet was free from the chains of his emotions that allowed him to perform his medical function optimally. There was no way for him to know that things would take a drastic change after this, and all because he had had the daring to sympathize with the Seeker.

Mirage was alone, confident that he was hidden enough in the cover of the bushes even without his cloaking generator turned off. The Constructicons had finished their small-scale deforestation late last night and had started building the Space Bridge Ring immediately after. That was the last progress that he saw they made since his turn for spying ended at that time and Hound took on his role. He had been gone for the whole night, leaving the Ligier alone to have his well-deserved rest. If Hound had been any other mech, Mirage would had been worried thinking that he was alone up there with a team of Decepticon combiners, but the tracker could take care of himself. And even if he could not overpower them, he had his hologram to save his existence.

The rustles of leaves alerted him from his relaxation. The first thing he did was to make himself invisible and prepared the shoulder-launcher to fire its missile, but an astrosecond later a familiar faceplates poked out from the bushes where he had been staring at. The appearance of the dark-green helm was quickly followed by a shoulder-mounted rocket only slightly longer than Mirage's; a jeep's bumper-turned-torso was next, and finally, the pedes stepped out from the vegetations, revealing Hound's entire chassis to Mirage's vision. The Ligier's intakes vented out in relief upon identification and deactivated his invisibility cloak, exposing his location to his friend.

"Mr. Invisible's finally making himself known to the public, it seems," Hound teased as he sat down beside Mirage, resting his joints and ball-bearings from the all-night scouting.

The Noble allowed a smile to form on his lip-components – it was always good to have some humour around after joors of loneliness. "Any news?"

"Yes. For one, Powerglide's coming as our back-up. Two, those 'Cons have finished building the Space Bridge. I also think that it's better to sound the alarm to our friends at the base."

"Uh? So, this is not a decoy after all?" Mirage asked although he was not really surprised at this decision. They had been warned by Prowl earlier that the Space Bridge might be a fake one but the Noble's instinctive drive insisted that it was not so, judging by the level of efforts the Decepticons put into building it.

"Doesn't seem to be it. I overheard them talking that they're only waiting for the energon cubes when Scavenger – I think it's him – groused about the waiting."

"Alright, so we have to inform Prime and his team to come...then, there's Powerglide. Where is he?"

Hound gave a shrug at this. "Somewhere up, that's for sure. He told me that he's flying around the perimeter to scout if there are more 'Cons out there. Typical Powerglide."

The Noble did not contain the chuckles when hearing the tone he used when making that last statement – it was fairly well-known among the Autobots that the crimson flyer's was fond of performing aerial acrobatic manoeuvres and public attention. Being on the lookout meant that he had to remain as unobtrusive as possible; hence, he had to settle it with satisfying only his first love.

"Still, it's good to have him around. At least he can –"

Mirage's sentence were cut off by the sudden pricks of signal in his comm. link. The signature attached to it was that of the Autobot and judging from the strength of it, it was being transmitted by a fairly nearby mech. The surprise at being contacted had not even worn off when a voice spoke through the comm. link, steady and yet worried-sounding:

::Powerglide to Hound and Mirage. We might have a situation here.::

The Autobot flyer's call was heard by both Hound and Mirage since he was on public channel. Immediately, they opened their end of the channels to allow two-way communication.

::We hear you, Powerglide. What happens?:: Mirage was the first to respond and Hound was just too happy to let his friend do the talking.

::My sensor caught on humans' signatures nearing the hot spot. They 're moving a bit slow, but I can't reach them to warn them off!::

Hound's optics shimmered briefly with worry. In the exception of Optimus Prime himself, the tracker was famous for the great love he had for the human race. Any life lost because of the war was a source of sorrow for him. That these humans could be the newest casualty was worrying the jeep-former greatly and it showed in the tone of his voice when he said:

::They must be on foot, then. Could be jungle-trekkers or hikers. Can't you just swoop in and lift them off?::

::No can do. The trees are too thick for that – Oh slaggit, trouble's coming! It's the no-good bolt-bat Buzzsaw!::

Reflexively, both mechs directed their gaze to the sky above the other side of the Constructicons-infested hill and saw a dark shape soaring there. Buzzsaw's trajectory was no longer circular but was angled slightly downward instead – it was almost certain that the flying Decepticon had detected the humans' presences. The two Autobot spies exchanged desperate looks with each other; it was not likely that the humans would escape unscathed if they were caught, if not killed straight away. There was not even argument erupted whether they should came to the rescue – it was a responsibility that came naturally with being Autobots.

::We're on it, Powerglide. Keep looking out, but be ready to lend us a servo. It's going to be pretty dangerous what we're doing here.::

::Roger that. Call me if you need me!::

The links between the Autobots was severed once agreement was achieved. Powerglide would provide air support if needed but they rather had him hidden for now to act as sentry, which left the responsibility of saving the humans on Mirage's and Hound's shoulder-struts. Getting it done would require fast actions – and something very dangerous. The Noble saw the mix of anxiety and determination brewing in Hound's brilliant optics and was infected instantly with the same feelings.

"Care to join me?" Hound asked, a grim smile decorating the frowning faceplates.

The code of honour and the desire to help his friend dictated that there was no way that Mirage could have said no even though he acknowledged that what they were about to do could be the end of their activations. Mirroring the grim smile that Hound was wearing, the Noble replied, confident and unwavering, "Yes, Hound. I'm always with you."

_**XxXx**_

At an altitude of thirty thousand feet above the sea level, an A-10 Thunderbolt II Warthog was slicing through the wind-filled sky with ease borne from practice and seemingly inherent affinity. In the world of aircrafts, doing an average of 300 knots would not earn it a title of the 'Ferrari of the Sky', but there was something about the way it expertly rode turbulence which would have hindered most other flyers to slingshot it further, faster, that hinted of expertness that only handfuls could have challenged. And there was another thing peculiar about it, too; due to their relatively low air speed compared to other airplanes, say, an MiG, A-10 models were drabbed in various shades of either grey, yellow, brown or green to camouflage their appearances. This one was of bold _red_.

Earth military, especially that of the United States, would have frowned on Powerglide's choice of colour schemes. To Powerglide himself, he could not have chosen a better paintjob. Red was a symbol of courage; red was interesting; red was attractive. At low enough height, he could turn people's heads twice by merely passing by; eyes would not leave him until he was out of sight if he started demonstrating his incredible manoeuvrability, and there was nothing aside from the sky itself that he loved more than being admired. Right now, though, he was far, far away from the ground-bound watchers, climbing to where only clouds could witness his greatness. It was against what he wished but mission was mission and Optimus Prime had charged him with the task to spy on the Constructicons, which meant exposing himself was out of question. He was not too excited about it but he was a good soldier. And good soldiers did not disobey their superiors because of their personal desires.

He had established contact with Hound a few kliks ago and had been informed on the latest developments on the intelligence-gathering. So far, so good – the Constructicons had finished with the Space Bridge but they were doing nothing as of now. They seemed to be...waiting for something. Powerglide had no idea what but Hound had guessed that it was the arrival of the energon cubes, and while it was unknown when the cargo would arrive, the delay might have bought the Autobots precious astroseconds to act upon it. Even now he was convinced that Hound was contacting the Ark to inform their comrades of this latest development in the Decepticon's activity.

Powerglide acknowledged fully the fact that Buzzsaw had been sighted scouting the area before but the Decepti-vulture was nowhere in sight or scanner. _Good riddance,_ he thought to himself gleefully, _Now I can do this! _and entered a spiralling dive at subsonic speed, hurtling himself towards the ground visible through the wisp of clouds. He borne no hatred towards extreme height, liking it even, but he simply loved the rush of energon blood coursing through his tubing while cruising at low altitude – more so if he was doing something crazy like rocketing _downwards_. He would have to pull out of the dive way higher than he was used to, but it could not be helped in the current circumstances; dropping lower would risk detection by the Constructicons now resting atop the hill.

Watching the ground seemingly to rise up in meeting him reminded Powerglide why he had invested his love in flying – because it was the ultimate game. Master the sky and you would be hailed; fail, and only by miracles he would have the chance to save his Spark from being extinguished. The red flyer theorized that cloud covers and the distance with which he was separated from the Decepticons would enable him to level out at the height of two thousand feet without unfriendly optics spotting him so he prepared himself to pull out as he neared the estimated distance – and that was when his scanner picked up faint life signatures from directly down below. The surprise made Powerglide terminated his dive immediately, thrusters struggling to push him in vertical line even as his wings stabilized his flight. The life signatures were unexpected, not at this location – the Decepticons were over five miles away from his diving location and his Autobot friends were on the other side of the Space Bridge-hill. Powerglide passed the signatures easily even at the currently much lower speed, indicating slow locomotive ability. He snapped into a tight turn, returning to the location and circling the spot for further inspection. Visual feeds were useless at this range and tree covers made it harder for his optics to see but the scanner confirmed it; there were life-forms down below and they weren't at all Cybertronians.

They were humans.

_Uh-oh, that can't be good. Not good at all._

His comm. link was working to connect with Mirage and Hound the moment he finished processing those sentences. They were not so near that hope was altogether lost but an inch closer to the Decepticons slimmed their chances of survival.

::Powerglide to Hound and Mirage. We might have a situation here.::

He repeated the distress call a few times, circling as far as he dared from where the life signatures were detected. He rather nor risked leaving the humans, even for a nanoklik – past experiences taught him that human species were unfortunately quite talented in getting themselves into trouble. Finally, he was within range enough to be heard by the other Autobots when Mirage finally opened his side of the channel and responded:

::We hear you, Powerglide. What happened?::

Powerglide's relief at being answered did not make him forget to speak; he relayed his find quickly, not bothering to hide the anxiousness now creeping in his circuitries. He could guess well enough if organics, be them Earthlings or residents of some other planets, fell under the mercy of Decepticons – slavery was the lightest fate that Megatron granted his captives, no less.

::They must be on foot, then. Could be jungle-trekkers or hikers. Can't you just swoop in and lift them off?::

His onboard cameras scanned the view passing below him – the green of trees dominated the landscapes. There were pockets of grassy clearings here and there but it was not enough space to accommodate his size, let alone his landing distance. Landing was therefore impossible – and swooping in was just as unlikely. The younger trees might yield if he ran through them but he rather not risked his fuselage being gutted by the trunks of older, hardier ones and the spaces between them was not nearly large enough to allow his passing. He conveyed the impossibility of Hound's requests whether to land or fly low enough to fetch the humans when his air radar beeped warnings for an incoming object. The bounded frequency indicated a smaller flying-whatever-it-is than Powerglide was but its velocity was astounding for one of its size. Along with it, Powerglide detected something that he fervently hoped not to knock his sensory perceptions at this crucial moment – it was an unfriendly energy signature. A Decepticon's energy signature, to be exact.

:: Oh slaggit, trouble's coming! It's the no-good bolt-bat Buzzsaw!::

He had said it even before getting a visual confirmation. He recognized the yellow-black Casetticon without needing to see him first-hand – the energy signature was well known to Powerglide, having engaged him in battles for countless of times. The same could be said of other Decepticons, particularly the Seekers and the Casetticon twin-design Laserbeak, since he was the Autobot's first line of aerial defence AND offense. It was a while before Hound replied that he and Mirage would do something about it and added that he should remain as their aerial lookout. There was no detailed explanations given as to what they were up to but Powerglide had neither questions nor objections. He had long learned that Autobots as they were, each had their own styles in solving problems, and not all solutions were to be mixed together.

::Roger that. Call me if you need me!::

He knew what he was supposed to do when designated as the sentry; keep hidden, look out for unusual activities, inform them of developments...those all had been ingrained in him by missions after missions. It was not likely that the Constructicons would be pointing their scanner skywards, seeing that so few Autobots could take to the air without the aid of jet-packs which were both noisy and rather unwieldy. Now, the only thing that he should seriously be wary of would be Buzzsaw but he had seemed rather fixated on the Earth's surface. From the way he circled a large perimeter in varying height hinted of the anonymity of the humans' locations to the Casetticon. Now there was something buzzing in his CPU that he had been puzzled of – he was twice as superior to the Decepticon. _Why didn't they just let him take on Buzzsaw?_

_**XxXx**_

Down below, at ground level and skirting the foothill as silently as Mirage and Hound could, the former was asking exactly the same question that was swirling in Powerglide's processors as he followed the tracker's lead, willing and yet curious as to what Hound had planned.

Despite being in the thickness of the forest, Hound's scanner had managed to pinpoint on the humans' location with ease that would had earned him envy from Buzzsaw, who was still struggling to do just that. He took a moment to study the flying Casetticon's flight pattern which confirmed his theory.

"Because," Hound started, his gaze now returning to more...ground level, "It seems to me that Buzzsaw has vague ideas where the humans are – which means that we might still be able to save them AND remain in secret."

"Fair enough," Mirage nodded. If they had asked Powerglide to do the rescuing, his method would not be exactly secretive because the flyer tended to be very...optic-catching when making his moves. Having Devastator chasing your tail-pipes was not really something they wished to happen when they were struggling to protect lives far more vulnerable than their own.

They were still enshrouded in the large shadows that the Space Bridge-hill when Hound observed something intriguing – Buzzsaw had angled himself downwards a few times before but he never got further than the top of the trees' canopies due to the uncertainty in the humans' position, despite knowing that they _were _there somewhere. This time, though, he was diving at much shallower angle, approaching the tree-line at almost vertical line to untrained optics.

"Oh, slag," Hound cursed out of impulse, earning himself a startled look from Mirage, "He found them."


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: **Second one in the double upload. Next one will be a little...'risque'._

_**XxXxXxXxXX**_

More like shuffling than walking, fifteen-year-old Eddie Thurston and his friend David Marshall forced their weakening muscles to keep on moving despite the exhaustion now threatening to claim them into the darkness. The fact that there was no road or even crude track made the going harder for they were forced to barge through the vegetation. Eddie's stomach gave a pleading rumble to be filled but neither of them was a survivalist to go hunting or something – their bag-packs, along with all of the necessary camping equipment, had been long carried to someplace unknown by the river current, the same river which had almost caused their demises.

What was supposed to be a simple, stress-relieving camping trip turned out to be nightmares for these two friends. Though it was partially due to David's stubbornness that they ended up in this fix, Eddie concluded to just shut up about it – grumbling and accusing would get them nowhere to safety and right now, they needed to get rescued. Still, it did not stop him from regretting – and mentally cursing – his friend for acting so recklessly. And speaking of reckless, why didn't the others saw just how dangerous it was to cross the river with such strong currents? In the end, it was he who had the daring enough to jump into the river to save David while the others...well, they did not do much except watching (he thought that he heard some of them screaming) David and Eddie got swept away by the currents, unable to fight while being tumbled around. Honestly, Eddie could not remember much except for the exhaustive struggling he had against the river as the water grew stronger, faster, and eventually, they reached a waterfall and...

The next thing he knew, he was washed on pebbled banks with David lying on his back, not quite far away from him. He guessed it was a blessing that he was knocked unconscious throughout his tumbling from the waterfall – and to emerge from the oblivion with functional lungs and heart made him even more grateful. One of his ribs were broken, which was miracle enough that he did not sustain worse injuries, and his whole body was bruised and cut. David was wounded too but instead of his ribs, it was his left ankle that had been sprained. Eddie was relieved that none of them were suffering fatal injuries but their problem was far from over; they needed to get their bearing and reached civilization soon or they would get lost and starved to death.

That was when he saw the trail of smoke rising in the distance, up on a small hill; it was faint and seemed to come from small burning source, which made it unlikely to be forest fire. Perhaps other campers, or hikers, or might even be forest rangers – whichever one could meant salvation for both of them. Though reluctant to leave the vicinity of the river, the thought of meeting other humans vanquished his doubts of doing so – and plus, there was nothing else that they could do. So they set off to gamble with their luck.

"I can't see a damn thing down here," David muttered while leaning on his stick-turned-walking cane to support his weight, disheartened by the fact how easily they could lose direction down there. Being under the trees' canopies, the only thing they could see when looking upwards was the blue sky above – the smoke was out of sight altogether.

"Shut up," Eddie snapped irritably; he had heard enough whining for the past thirty-plus hours. He had no compass to determine their heading, no watch to keep track of time and was forced to rely on the position of the sun, which they could barely see with the leaves hindering their views, and they had no food, water or other useful equipment. "I think I saw a rise up there. Maybe we could see where we're going if we climb that up."

"Suits me just fine," the other said, peering over in the pointed direction. Sure enough, there was something like a small hill there, with chunks of large rock perched at the edge and on top of it. It would not be a very good vantage point, but at least it would do. David was already limping his way towards it when he realized that Eddie was not following; instead, his friend was merely standing there, his hands raised to his ears. "The hell are you –"

"Ssshh!" Eddie was still in the same posture; hands half-cupping his ears, eyes looking up and standing straight as a pole. His face had that characteristic scrunching he did whenever he was concentrating. "D'you hear that?"

David did not, at first. And then, after a moment of full-attention listening, he could hear the whines of high-velocity engine. It was faint at first that he thought that he imagined it but they grew louder with each second. "Search-And-Rescue team?"

"I don't know – there! I see it!"

David looked up to where Eddie is pointing and saw a streak of red plummeting down a couple of thousand feet above them. It was an airplane, alright, but not like the ones that they used to do search-and-rescue operations – at least, the ones that he saw on TV. And it was not flying in normal fashion, either; it seemed to be _diving_, a behaviour he saw only when there were aerial acrobatic show and not by life-saving aircrafts. In fact, the more he looked at it, the less it looked like one...maybe a war-designed airplane? And why was it flying that way? Were the pilots been drinking too much?

"What the hell?" He heard David's colourful curses followed afterwards and he sort of understood why; not enough with the fancy manoeuvres, the red airplane had levelled its flight and shot away from them like an oversized stray bullet. In a second, it had dwindled into a red mass of barely identifiable aircraft.

"Great. Now it's gone. Just great."

_Wait. That airplane...it seemed to be –_

"It's coming back!" David's shout confirmed his observation as the airplane came back, the whines of its turbines refilling the air and banishing the stillness and desperation that had budded in the two teenagers. "Do you think it sees us?"

"No idea," he shrugged; already a puzzle rose in Eddie's mind, wondering why it flew in that fancy show-off way. Well, he shouldn't care about it as long as he was saved, even if the pilot proved to be a madman or something. Even if it could not land, looking at the tree-grown, uneven land all around them, at least whoever inside would note their location and sent a rescue party. "We should tell him our location. Do something to attract their attention..."

"I'm open to suggestion." David spread one of his arms to the side while using the other to hold on the improvised cane, showing that he had nothing to be used.

"Dammit, use your shirts! Wave it around; shout, whatever – I don't care, just do something!" Eddie was becoming ever more agitated, seeing that the strange flyer was getting tinier again as it flew further away. He was pulling the torn, dirtied T-shirt from his body as he said these and was brandishing it above his head, praying that the contrasting red colour would get them noticed.

"No good! We should climb that hill – it'll be easier to spot us!"

They were running towards it even as David made the suggestion; running and screaming and waving frantically, for all in the world looking like lunatics and gave a damn care about how they looked right now. Their voices sounded loud in their ears but Eddie knew that in an environment like this, sounds did not carry very far. Blue and red T-shirts fluttered beside one another as they climbed the rise; at one point, Eddie had to drop the cloth to help his friend getting up with the bad ankle before picking it up again, yelling at the top of his lungs all the while.

"It didn't see us!" David moaned as the airplane flew higher but he never stopped waving his T-shirt. The hill was surrounded by trees, but the top had only grasses and short bushes growing on it. There was still chance that they could be seen.

Eddie was raising his cloth as well, refusing to give up. He was screaming and jumping at the same time, uncaring just how tired he felt for doing these. Rescue was so close, so close, if only he could get the airplane –

"_Squawk!"_

It was a screech unlike any he had ever heard; a strange mixture of bird-like call and metallic creaks. There was something in that sound that made his blood froze in the veins, a sense of imminent danger. And it sounded so _near_. They both turned around at the same time and gaped at the extraordinary sight of a very large, avian-looking creature swooping down on them; its eyes were glowing red, black claws opened and outstretched in their direction, the cruel, curved beak emitting that strange bird-metal screams.

"What the fuck is _that_?!"

Eddie managed to shout before throwing himself to the ground – but it was too late. One set of claws closed upon him even as he tried to duck away, vaguely aware that for all its bird-like features, its feet were equipped with only two opposing talons on each – one was hooking itself under the arm-pit, pressing against the broken rib and releasing a pained yell from his throat, while the other clasped itself on the shoulder. And then, he was lifted off the ground as if weightless, the metal bird screeching triumphantly as it did. Through watery eyes from all the pain felt, Eddie saw his world through blurred vision; cold wind whipped at his face and body mercilessly as the metal-eagle's speed built up and the ground raced beneath him at speed that made his head dizzy. The roaring wind that filled his ears made it difficult to hear David's screams of fear-rage ears and he tried to yell himself, only to find that even breathing was difficult with his broken rib getting in the way. Eddie relented himself to dissatisfied grunts and weak thumping at the eagle's claws though he doubted it could feel his touch through the thick metal. Unable to see properly, Eddie had vague ideas where this strange robot-thingy was taking him, only realizing that the hill up ahead was drawing ever closer. Then, without warning, the claws released their hold on both victims, sending the two teenagers tumbling through the air, their mouth screaming nonsense that even they themselves could not understand. It was not a long way, thankfully, and abruptly their yelling was cut short the instant their bodies slammed to the ground.

The dust and sand that were raised upon their not-so-gentle landing obscured their vision for a few seconds. The anonymity of their situations worried Eddie more than diving into fast-flowing river did; his body ached horribly and the flesh where the broken rib was underneath was bruised, being stressed on both sides by the eagle's talon and his own bone. It did not help that they were shirtless, which meant their skins were in direct contact with dirt and rocks littering the ground they were lying on. There were bitter tastes of sand on his tongue, inducing a very uncomfortable cough and spluttering as his body fought to expel the impurities. Eddie's heart thumped wildly in his chest as he waited for the dust to thin enough to allow a glimpse of silhouettes – huge, towering silhouettes – standing all around them. There was a soft scraping sound as David, now looking as if _both_ ankles being injured, crawled towards him; his face was one of pained and worry for he too had seen the frightening figures that entrapped them within their midst. His hand found Eddie's and closed around the other's, seeking assurance that things would turn out alright after this. That perhaps...this was nothing more than a nightmare.

Finally, the dust settled down and the area came into clarity, exposing the identities of the beings now surrounding them. Risking a peek, Eddie saw no signs of the metal eagle that had abducted them but that did brought no relief whatsoever to the frightened human for they lay sprawling at the feet of far bigger _robots_, each standing up to twenty-plus feet, each possessing roughly similar colourations of lime and purple – and there were six of them, to make matters worse. One of them bent down, its red eyes glowing menacingly in the shadows cast by their congregation and opened its mouth.

"Who do we have here now?" The voice that came out was deep and surprisingly smooth, considering the speaker to be mechanical.

"Bah! Who do you think they are, Hook?" Another, whose voice was rougher and more menacing, peered down on the two sprawled humans, a corner of its mouth twisting in what Eddie assumed to be disgust. "They're the Autobot's pets, who else?"

The term 'Autobot' sparked recognition in Eddie's mind. He had heard of them, of course, as well as the majority of people in the world; he had yet to meet one face-to-face but he did recognized their symbol, a robotic read head. The boy stole a glance at each of them, only to discover that they all sported a different albeit just as well known emblem of the opposing faction. There was no doubt that the angular, pointed faces stamped on their bodies were the emblem of the evil Decepticons.

"I've never seen these particular two before," the one called Hook replied with a tone that more than hinted the disdain at the lack of analysis shown by its teammate. "And they do not look very well-maintained to me, Bonecrusher."

"Some lost fleshbags seeking a way home, perhaps?" sneered a new Decepticon. It had the lower part of its face hidden by a metal mask but Eddie could have sworn that it was smirking behind it, amused by their helplessness. When the humans remained silent, more out of fear than any sense of being stubborn, it used its massive foot to shove at David's side in demanding answer. The boy screamed in pain as the bad ankle was twisted in the process. "Oh look, they've been damaged too!"

The gleam of menace echoing in their voices made sweats dripped down Eddie's scalp; his heart drummed so fast that it felt like bursting out of his chest any moment now. He had heard rumours of what the Decepticons would do to unfortunate humans and not of them sounded a bit pleasant. He dragged himself closer to David, who was now rolling himself into a ball to keep a grip on his throbbing leg in preventing further abusive movements to the injured ankle. Despite the terror now threatening to drag him into unconsciousness, Eddie forced himself to raise himself just enough so that he could look at the Decepticons properly, using his elbows as a support. Begging was not a very glorious thing to do but faced with these ruthless creatures, he would rather lose his dignity than his life so he said, "Please...let us go. We promise we won't tell anyone about this!"

To his surprise and horror, not only was his pleading not met with consideration, the Decepticons burst out _laughing_ the second he finished his sentence. The Earth vibrated from the intensity of their amusement; even their combined voices were so very loud that the boys were forced to cover their ears. Neither Eddie nor David liked to show their fear but it could not be helped right now as they cowered into each other, hoping against hope that there was still chance for their survivals.

"Too bad we're not Autobots, fleshlings," One of them, the other masked one, stepped forward once their laughter ceased. The boys did not remember seeing the robots armed with any sort of weapons before; now, though, every one of them was holding a massive, unseen-before guns in their hands – and the two friends had no idea at all when they were taken out. Even as he spoke, the masked Decepticon was already taking aim at the unfortunate humans. "We don't bother ourselves with lowly creatures, you know."

There was a soft _click _heralding the pulling of a trigger; a sharp _tsew_ of fired laser sliced through the air but the shock-pain howl than ensued afterwards did not come from his throat, nor David's.

_**XxXx**_

In his invisible mode, Mirage watched with astonishment as Hound's shot from the other side of the hill hit its mark; Scavenger staggered backwards, one servo gripping at the other whose digits were partially severed by the tracker's laser shot. Hidden in the generated hologram resembling the bushes around them, the Jeep-former fired twice more in rapid succession, wounding Scrapper and Mixmaster respectively. The fall of the three Constructicons opened just enough room for Mirage to make his move, now that the remaining enemies were in confusion. The Noble made a dash for it, towards the clearing where the young Earthlings were being held captive, not daring to wait any longer; his steps were light and silent compared to Cybertronian standard but the humans would feel his coming – he could only hope that they would not be hopelessly terrified and started running around like glitched Sparklings. That was, if they _could _move; throughout his observation, he noticed how they barely did so despite remaining in full consciousness, perhaps from injuries which inhibited their full mobility.

Apparently, the Constructicons had forgotten altogether that they still had the humans in their midst for Mirage managed to slip among them unnoticed. Their injured members' vocalization made a good cover for whatever sound that the Noble might make, while the rest were too preoccupied with identifying the source of the laser to notice the faint, easily-unnoticeable sign of his presence. He knelt before the oblivious humans, wondering briefly how he would save them without sending them into panicky state – and made his CPU about it an astrosecond later. There was no time to lose now. With his outstretched palms he covered the two humans as best as he could to include them in his invisibility cloak. He managed only barely, but it was enough to increase their chance at escaping with all limbs intact.

Now for Step 2.

Hoping that these humans would not be frightened by his disembodied voice, Mirage whispered as soothingly as he could, "Boys, do not be afraid. And be quiet. You cannot see me, but please trust me. I'm your friend."

The young Earthlings were bewildered, as was expected, but Mirage could give them credit for keeping cool heads under current circumstances; neither of them jumped, yelled or did anything that could give away their positions, only staring blankly at what would looked seemed like an empty air to them. Eventually, one of them, the brunette-haired one, gathered just enough wits about him to whisper back, "Are you...are you an Autobot?"

"Yes. I'm here to save you. You are currently under my invisibility field but _barely _so; move a little and you will be exposed. I'm now attempting to pick you up."

They remained unmoving as Mirage shifted a little to better cover them with his whole body before gently scooping them up in both palms, which he quickly cupped against his torso. The Ligier-former could only make himself invisible and not others; to achieve similar results, the object of interest – the human younglings, in this case – had to be completely covered by his chassis or limbs to be included in the cloaking field. Thus, it was only by cradling them in such way that Mirage could conceal them while attempting his escape which he did immediately, once he was certain that the humans were safe in his servos. He thought he could hear one of them muttering "_Oh god oh god oh god, this is too weird_," under his breath, and honestly, Mirage was not surprised; the humans, albeit invisible themselves, were unable to see the Ligier or any part of him, which would make a very awkward view indeed – seemingly being suspended in the air without visual clue of being solidly supported, only being able to feel the walls of his servos and torso-plating closing around them.

He was descending the hill now and Mirage was facing difficulties to do so without the help of his servos to grab onto something AND to remain careful so as not to squash the humans he was supposed to save. He used mostly his pedes and knee-bearings to halt his slide and sometimes his elbow-joints, but the journey was still an unpleasant one. His left shoulder-strut was damaged when he hit a rocky outcropping during one of his uncontrollable tumbling but it was negligible in this situation. The young humans gasped whenever they went through particularly rough journey but they held enough control over their voices to keep themselves from reaching the screaming level.

"We're almost there," the Noble announced; and with a last hop, he landed at the base of the hill. His whole chassis was muddied, scratched and dented but they were of minor concern. What was important that there were no injuries inflicted on the humans in addition to the ones they already sustained. Although he could not deny the nagging worry that pricked his CPU at the thought of Hound, who was still somewhere up there to buy them time...

::Mirage to Hound,:: The Ligier's comm. link reached out to the tracker whilst he continued walking away from the hill to increase his distance from the source of danger. ::The humans have been successfully rescued. Retreat now before your cover is exposed.::

::Hound to Mirage. Give me some more time – I've got something to do. Have Powerglide send the kids to hospital – he's the fastest among us. There's a small clearing to the Southwest, about 7 megamiles from here that he can use for landing. I'm arranging it so he will meet you there.::

::What about you?::

::I'll be fine. Wait for me at the clearing, alright? I'll follow as soon as I can.::

::Understood. Mirage out.::

The Noble did not question with the whole wrapped-up things that Hound had going on – it had been his nature to be so, revealing only his doing when he had achieved it successfully. Mirage was not sure whether it was wise to transform to his alt-mode; it would be faster on wheels than walking, but to alter his form while remaining invisible was taxing – and doubly dangerous now that he had these humans to care for. Not to mention the pain his axles would be in later when driving on such terrains so he decided to remain in his robotic form. He gingerly held the humans closer to his chest-piece before opening strides towards said location.

"Um, Mr. Autobot...sir? Where are we going now?" One of the teenagers whose legs seemed to be damaged, asked timidly; the curiousity in his voice was strong though, and there was doubt as well – perhaps because he was still traumatized by their recent-but-brief abduction. "Unless you don't want to answer," he added quickly.

Initially, the Ligier-former had been reluctant to be in charge of the humans especially when he happened to be one the Autobots who were least acquainted to humans, having spoken only to the Witwickys and Chip; right now, he was surprised to find himself being fairly amused by the reactions these curious Earthlings made. They were young, even by human's standard, but to maintain calmness when being held by a giant invisible being even after their ordeals was an admirable feat. "The name is Mirage. And we are going someplace where my friend can take you to the nearest...hospital to treat that damages of yours."

"Why can't you send us yourselves? Not that we're complaining – just curious," his companion, the brunette-haired boy chipped in just as nervously as the former.

"Because he can fly – and airways are faster in current circumstances."

"Fly...wait; Is it a red airplane of some sort?"

"Yes, and I'm guessing that you have seen him before, cruising over the forest before you were captured?"

"That's him! We've been trying to call out to him when suddenly...well, we didn't saw that bird coming. It all happened so fast."

Mirage nodded, though the gesture of understanding was directed more to himself since the others were not able to see him. If they had been trying to get noticed by Powerglide, then certainly Buzzsaw must have seen them before either Mirage or Hound could get to their location. What they did was basically correct – except when in special cases where Decepticons were around. It had been on pure misfortune that what should have supposed to be their saviour move turned against them this time around.

After a bit of walking, Mirage paused to ascertain his distance from the hill and finding that he had left it about two miles away. The continuous cloaking drained his energy reserve and with the Constructicons now being left sufficiently far behind, Mirage was quite happy to deactivate his invisibility-generator; he was briefly outlined by the orange lights as he did so before the glowing rectangle that marked his invisible field dissipated, leaving his figure solid and visually detectable. A startled cry of "Whoa!" came out in unison from both human boys as Mirage revealed himself to them for the first time. He opened his servos a little further to allow more room for movements. The teenagers looked up, mouth agape, optics (or were they eyes? Hound had told about the different terms the Earthlings used before) wide with wonder.

After a moment of speechlessness, the teenager with damaged legs, pointed at him and exclaimed, "Wait – I think I've seen you on TV before!"

"Unsurprising," Mirage replied more curtly than he would have preferred; gaining public attention was always a nuisance to the Noble, who preferred to keep his appearance low-profile if possible. After all, there were reasons why he had chosen invisibility above other upgrades that had been offered millions of stellar cycles ago, when he was still a Noble vornling. "We are comparatively big to this planet's creatures to miss. Not to mention the very talented reporters you have here, hence why we usually remain in vehicular modes when among the Earthlings."

"Makes sense..." He muttered, drifting briefly into the private part of his mind where imaginations ran free before he seemed to realize something. "Oh, by the way, I'm David – and this is my friend, Eddie."

David and Eddie continued to talk afterwards but with more ease than before since they were now convinced that Mirage meant no harm. The Autobot emblem on his torso played a vital role in planting the seed of faith and before long, there was no more trace of fear colouring their uttered words. They told mostly about how they had been viewing the Transformers, repeatedly stressing just how 'cool' it was to be able to alter their physiques into vehicles and their hope of ever meeting one someday. In return, they did ask about the whereabouts of the Autobots which Mirage sparingly replied to, aware that despite their genuine friendliness and curiousity, David and Eddie were still outsiders to the army. Answers that they sought were not imparted freely to whomever that happened to ask them. So far, only their human allies were indulged in such delicate information and none others. Eventually, they tired themselves out enough at the half-Sparked replies, getting the hints that it was way beyond their boundary so they directed the conversation elsewhere. In particular, they were asking for the identities of the Constructicons and what interests they had on humans that motivated the metal eagle to kidnap them.

"None," Mirage answered, "And the so-called 'metal eagle' is Buzzsaw. You've seen the team of six there, and they call themselves Constructicons. Ah, here we are."

Mirage stepped out from the lines of trees and into a grassy, rock-scattered clearing that was not even remotely spacious enough to allow aircraft landing of any sort; it was only large enough for five Transformer-sized beings to fit in there with no room to spare. Still sitting on his servos, Eddie and David peered through his parted digits and gawked disbelievingly.

"That's...supposed to be an airplane landing strip?"

The Noble suppressed the uncharacteristic urge to wink meaningfully, settling into a smile instead. "Who says that this is going to be a landing strip?"

"But –"

Eddie was not given the chance to finish his sentence for a familiar sound of engines suddenly filled the air. The two boys looked up and saw a red airplane gliding down smoothly towards them. Mirage smiled inwardly, knowing too well that Powerglide would not content himself with merely sitting and waiting for their arrival; no, he just _have _to pass the time by flying. The Autobot flyer pulled up from the sloping dive and carefully manoeuvred himself into even shallower approach while carefully avoiding the trees that fringed the clearing. Only at the last astrosecond did he commenced with the transforming, the airplane from quickly changing into a bipedal robot by the time Powerglide's pedes touched down.

Powerglide spotted his Noble friend still standing at a corner of the clearing and greeted him jovially like he always did. That was when he saw the tiny heads poking through Mirage's parted digits, curious as to what this airplane looked like in his root-mode. "So, there's the humans, eh?"

"Yes, this is Eddie – the other one is David. They will need proper medical attention as soon as possible." The Ligier stepped forward and showed the flyer the teenagers he had been protecting all this while. David and Eddie looked up to the red Cybertronian gazing down at them and waved, partly because they did not have an idea what to do.

"I can get them to a nearby airport – the ambulance will get them to their med-bay afterwards," he assured, returning the servo-waving gestures. "Well boys, you don't need to worry cuz' Powerglide's here!"

So saying, metallic creaks accompanied his alteration back to his A-10 Thunderbolt alt-mode. The engine was set to idle and the door was opened for the Earthlings' entries, ready to take off the moment they were inside. Mirage lowered them down and helped them getting aboard the flyer, especially David, who was forced to inched on his knees with both legs being rendered useless by the injuries. They progressed slowly and it took a while before they were safely seated inside Powerglide and the door shut close.

"Buckle your seatbelts, boys," Powerglide warned as he kicked his engines running at higher rotation, preparing for departure, "and _awaaaaayyyy _we GO!"

No Thunderbolts could take off with such short run but Powerglide was neither a normal aircraft nor a haphazard flyer; wind blew back from the high rotation of his thrusters as he prepared himself for the difficult feat, sending a gust strong enough that Mirage shielded his faceplates with his crossed arms. By the time he reached the end of the clearing, he was already in the air, the underside of his fuselage barely avoiding from being scraped by the first line of the trees. In a matter of nanokliks, Powerglide was far away enough that he was dwindled to mere red speck in the sky, the features identifying him as an airplane barely visible without being zoomed in.

Left alone and bound by his promise to wait for Hound, Mirage found himself getting progressively restless by the inactivity. His part in helping the humans had ended the moment he transferred them into Powerglide's care – they should be fine together – but what worried him was the fact that he had no idea what the tracker was up to. While the Jeep was far from being reckless, nobody could tell when fortune suddenly decided to stop smiling on him. The Ligier-former persuaded himself by repeating over and over again that Hound was an experienced soldier to little effect. His worry was only subdued when he heard the rough-sounding roars of Hound's alternate form from a distance; instinctively, Mirage sprang up from his rock-turned-seat and turned towards the noise's source, Spark pulsing in anticipation as he waited for the green mech to appear.

Hound did so a few kliks later but he was no longer in his alt-mode form when he emerged into the clearing, which stood to reason since there was no passable route to reach here. Fresh scratches and dents that were not there since Mirage last saw him marked his chassis but none of them was threatening, though the sight of his hologram projector smoking and partially crushed was worrying. The Noble saw a triumphant smile on Hound's lip-components despite all these, a rare enough expression for the tracker to display.

"Now that's a smile I haven't see in a while...What happened? What did you do?"

"Well, since we can't keep watch on their progress now that those 'Cons know we're there, I've figured out I might do something to even the odds." Mirage continued to look at him with concern, his optics lingered especially long on the damage done to the hologram projector. Hound noticed this and shrugged it off. "I'm sure it's nothing that Ratchet can't fix. It's a purely lucky shot that it hit me."

"Okay...so what _exactly _did you do?"

"Buying our friends some time."

"_Hound_."

The tracker finally gave up upon hearing that strange pleading-commanding tone Mirage used to utter his designation, adding quickly, "Alright. So I sabotaged the Space Bridge; shot the control panel and outer ring. Managed quite a lot of damages from the looks of it. It should take them a few joors to get it back online."

"...and I thought I was already used to your on-the-spot decision-making." It was a clever thing to do, seeing that the repairing would indeed buy the others to reach here before the energon delivery could commence. Still, doing it alone was not a very wise thing. At least he could have called on Mirage for back-up if something went wrong.

Hound seemed to read the lines running through the Noble's processors because he quickly interjected, "You're in charge to protect the humans, 'Raj. I can't make you my back-up when you have them to care for. Besides, it's done – and I'm safe. Not exactly something to complaint, eh?"

"I suppose. Anyway, have you reported this to the base?"

"Done that. I expect Prowl is assembling a strike team even as you patronize me around."

"I'm not patronizing you!" Mirage's voice came out louder than what his upbringing allowed him to use but the indignity Hound's statement caused was not ignorable. "I'm just worried about you! What if –"

"I never said that it's not a good thing." Hound grinned that wolfish smile that he only revealed on several occasions, usually involving something with mischievous nature. "And I'm glad that at least there's someone to tell me off when I do something stupid."

It was the easy smile, more than anything else which quenched the Noble's dissatisfaction from exploding full force. As conservative as he was, when his emotions got the better of his self-control, only the tracker knew how to curb it. On some occasions, it made Mirage ashamed for the involuntary outburst, such as now. "I hate you," he muttered in defeat but his words held no venom whatsoever, just sheer embarrassment.

Hound just laughed good-naturedly at the response received and extended an inviting servo towards the Ligier. "Come on. We have a long way to go back to the Ark."

Mirage gave no verbal answer; the act of grasping the offered limb in acceptance was clue enough of his agreement. There was no reason to remain here any longer with the Constructicons having been alerted to their presences and which would undoubtedly pose serious threat to them if they stayed. Mindful of Mirage's inability to roll out on such topography, Hound consented to walking until they found suitable roads that Mirage's axles could tolerate. The Noble silently thanked his friend for having the consideration as they walked away from the clearing and headed into the forest, side by side. Hound was right; it was a long way to go, but thinking of the Ark alone was enough to partially soothe the tensions now eating at his joints. After all, they were going _home_.

_**XxXx**_

In the actuality, it was Red Alert who had responded to Hound's transmission, which, according to the procedure, should be handled by a Special Ops agent. That role was Jazz's, and since he was away on sentry duty at the med-bay, the report was passed along to Prowl who acted in the Porsche's stead. Barely a breem after the Second got his servos on it, there was already a group of high-ranking Autobots being assembled in the Command Deck, thanks to Prowl's swift action. Included among them was Optimus Prime, Red Alert, Blaster and Prowl himself – a pitiful collection compared to their usual numbers with Hound, Mirage and Powerglide having been dispatched as scouts and quite a few notable individuals being assigned as sentries as the med-bay. Prowl had just finished relaying his analysis on the situation at the Space Bridge by now and his words managed to garner attentions from the rest of them. The Autobot Supreme Commander was especially troubled by this latest development.

"It is fortunate that the humans were successfully rescued," the Prime said after a momentary silence on his part, "And I am convinced now that the Space Bridge is a functional one. However, I cannot help feeling there's something else to this whole scheme."

"Of course there's something else!" Red Alert snapped irritably like he always did when other Autobots took his Sparkfelt warnings without much seriousness, "Megatron doesn't use Constructicons to build Space Bridge! It's a mundane task for them!"

"Exactly what I have in CPU, Red Alert," Optimus Prime assured. "But I do not think it's wise to wait any longer now that they have finished constructing it. If the energon cubes reach Cybertron, our friends there will have harder time opposing Shockwave's minions."

"Not meanin' to call on your shot, Prime sir," Blaster's electronic voice held a tinge of doubt that caught the rest's attentions, "But there're Constructicons. We're not gonna win by throwin' sticks and stones."

"That may be, but remember; Hound's doings had damaged some of them. It's unlikely that they will attempt merging anytime soon. Still, the choices are ours – Either we wait for Ratchet to finish with the surgery or we make do with what we have." Optimus's tone was obvious that the owner was more inclined to the former. Nevertheless, his gaze rested on Prowl, a silent inquiry for his Second's opinion.

"If you ask me, then I'll say we wait. Though the Constructicons are crippled now, we may never know if Megatron will be sending reinforcements – in which case, it will be a disadvantage if we opted for the second choice...Prime?"

Optimus Prime had fallen into an unusual elapse while Prowl was talking and it showed through the way his optics grew dimmer. There were only several instances where the Autobot leader displayed such action, such as when one was contacting him via comm. link. Looking at the fact that there was no voice being heard coming from his speaker, it was almost confirmed that the link was established through private channel. In a nanoklik, Optimus regained his footing on the world that surrounded him. When he spoke, his voice was laced with relief.

"Autobots, I have just received good news. Ratchet has successfully completed the operation."

_**XxXx**_

Skyfire positioned himself a little behind to give more room for Ratchet to work on his patient. Unlike the brig's usual condition, the lighting was set to the maximum level to further aid the medic on his endeavour, organizing the prone limbs into more comfortable positions. It would take a few more kliks before the universal override code was preset to cancel and for all it looked, the recharging Starscream might as well be dead if not for the faint Spark signature being emitted, pulses so weak that Skyfire's perception could only detect just barely.

"Starscream's vital signals all show encouraging signs," Ratchet announced after a few moments of checking, "And since his wings are not initially taken by force, I'll say his circuits will integrate in a matter of joors."

Of course, Skyfire had seen the Seeker with his wings that he was Ratchet's assistant in the surgery, the statement still compelled his optics to take in the view of this 'new' Starscream; his wings, white and angular, were devoid of any emblem whether Autobot or Decepticon, but other than that, they looked just as Starscream's original ones had been. Even the red and white stripe decals were applied.

"He's beautiful..."

"Pardon?" Ratchet inquired without turning towards the larger mech and instead resuming to double check Starscream's physiques for accidental scratches or wounds that might had been inflicted during the procedure.

"Uh, nothing." The shuttle, too far lost in his own processor-drift, accidentally muttered the thought that crossed his CPU. He was grateful that the medic did not seem to hear the slip – or at least, there were no signs given that he had.

The awkwardness that resulted from this was thankfully shattered by Brawn, who was waiting outside the cell along with the other sentries, "Ratchet, be done with that 'Con and let's get out of here!"

"In a nanoklik!" Ratchet called back, huffing his annoyance at being interrupted and continued his works whilst muttering his dissatisfaction to himself.

Brawn was obviously unhappy with the idea of being idle when they had been summoned by Optimus Prime just a few kliks ago to meet at the Command Deck. Ironhide shifted once in a while as he struggled to contain his excitement in the face of getting real assignment at last – 'assignment', in Ironhide's vocabulary, meant Decepticon bashing, shooting, kicking, or any other form of assaults instead of standing guard like a stone. Bluestreak and Jazz was sliding into idle conversation, mainly to entertain the gunner's restless nature; Sideswipe and Sunstreaker was holding their guns out like the rest but the huge yawn they gave was indication enough of what they thought about the whole standing-don't-lower-your-weapon positions. With Starscream being in forced recharge and bound by the pede-cuff of his cell, the guards found themselves more at ease than when they came to fetch the Seeker.

Ratchet concluded his inspection not long after; he stood up and wheeled on a pede. His optics lingered on Skyfire's faceplates so intensely that the shuttle felt as if being assessed. However, his unease was not long-lasting, vanquished by the softer expression the CMO took whilst approaching the shuttle.

"Make sure you watch out for Starscream while I'm away. Keep a joorly record on his telemetries so I can check on it later, understand?" Ratchet reminded. His tone left room for no argument, his optics insisting on agreement; typical no-playing-around, medic-mode Ratchet.

Despite only standing up to Skyfire's waist level, his sternness was unnerving and compelled obedience from the bigger Autobot. He nodded his confirmation to do as was told and added quickly, "Must you go now? It's barely a breem after you've done with the operation..."

Ratchet's shoulder-struts lowered in a gesture of relenting and his intakes sighed. "I'll go where I'm needed, Skyfire. And now, they need me in the team."

Skyfire understood this; as a Chief Medical Officer, Ratchet's main role was to repair those on the frontline of battlefields, among many others. Basically, his presence was necessary to an operation like this one that Prime had just announced. "I understand..."

"Just...Just promise me one thing, okay?"

"What is that?"

"Take care of Starscream. He'll...need you when he breaks his recharge." Skyfire had not realized when did the medic took hold of his servo, only realizing it when he felt warmth from the smaller digits upon contact. His faceplates was neutral, professional; his optics said otherwise.

Ratchet did not wait for answer; he merely squeezed the larger servo as a demand to carry out his words before releasing it. So stunned Skyfire was by the uncharacteristic response, he was left speechless as if forgetting how to, only being able to watch as Ratchet guided the transportation berth out of the cell. Energy rods sizzled back into existence after the medic passed over the boundary, not even once looking back at the still bewildered shuttle. There was a sense of avoidance to his movements as the Chief Medic ushered the guards out which dispirited Skyfire even further. The cloud of sorrow hung over the shuttle-former long after they had left the brig area and quietness, almost eerie in nature, descended upon the place. His quiet voice seemed to reverberate in there when he whispered, "You do not understand, do you?"

It was a raging disappointment that had compelled the words out of him but Ratchet was no longer there to hear them. With difficulty, he harnessed back his emotions into control and sat at the edge of Starscream's berth, his digits ghosting over the unmoving frame while he waited for the owner to return to reality.

_**XxXx**_

"Megatron: Attention."

Soundwave's one-toned voice carried across the Command Centre and brought his leader's attention back to the present where Rumble and Frenzy were fumbling with the various consoles of the Nemesis's main computer and the remaining Command Trine, along with the Coneheads, were standing off to one corner, busily discussing the most efficient combat tactic to be used in the upcoming battle. Megatron himself was seated on his throne with the HUD activated, going through his battle plan one more time before the big moment. At the uttering of his designation, the warlord shifted his focus from the virtual screen to the Communication Expert who stood before him, patiently waiting for Megatron's reaction.

"Yes?"

"Presence of Autobots reported by the Constructicons at the Space Bridge site," Soundwave relayed; his posture was fitting for a loyal soldier, his servos stiff at his sides and his stance unwavering.

"And?" There were coldness in the ex-gladiator's voice that hinted his disapproval at this latest news but his Fusion Cannon was silent – for now.

"Autobot interference results in damage to the Space Bridge. Control panel is sabotaged and inoperable. Estimated time of repair: 4.2 joors."

"Any injuries?"

"All Constructicon members suffer damages of varying degrees. None has reported to experience total malfunction."

At least, there was the saving grace to the whole situation. Fragging Autobots always managed to throw their nuisance lots into their midst and foiled his plan; Megatron could not afford to let them succeed this time, not when the stakes are so high.

His anger at the disruption had begun to bubble beneath his consciousness but the gun-former held it back; it still showed though from the way his mouth twisted into a feral grimace and his voice, now containing a hissing note that always denoted his irritation, "What about Astrotrain? The energon cubes?"

"All set and ready to go, my lord."

"Then send him off – and Blitzwing too, as his escorts. The cubes _must _be kept safe." Megatron's processors drifted past the confines of his underwater spaceship, out to the desert, where the Autobots resided in their crash-landed Ark. "How about the other Autobots?"

"Reconnaisance result: Optimus Prime has mobilized a strike team of seven. Estimated time of arrival: 5.1 joors at an average speed of 60 miles per hour."

"I believe Starscream has had his wings back by now. Is that so, Soundwave?"

"Yes, my lord."

Megatron's grimace mutated into a sadistic grin when he received the news. Everything was perfectly in place now. "Then make the final adjustments, Soundwave_. _It is time."

Soundwave said his affirmative and went back to his station in front of the Nemesis's computer console and uploaded the necessary information of the Earth-side Space Bridge to Shockwave and the estimated time range of operation. As he did so, Soundwave reached for the triple-changers via the comm. link, now that they had flushed out the high grades from their systems to have enough sense of self to answer when summoned. As had been told, Blitzwing and Astrotrain were at the ready to go the astrosecond they were given the green light; now that they received it, they moved quickly and before long, the Nemesis docking tower was raised to the surface to allow their departure. As the sounds of their engines faded into the distance, and Soundwave was finally finished with the particulars and details, Megatron stood up from his throne, his voice coming out as a roar that reverberated in the Command Centre, loud and authoritatively gripping:

"Decepticons; prepare to mobilize. _It is time_!"


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: WARNING - Mature content in this chapter. If you are uncomfortable with explicit scene, than you have been warned. Otherwise, please enjoy :)**_

Six arachnid-like legs tap-tapped silently, carrying the spy-nanobot through the mazes of hallways in the Autobot's the Ark. Its passing was unnoticeable, thanks to its small size plus the fact the there were few Autobots around. Still, its Sparkless intelligence warranted no carelessness; its master had given a clear order, and order that it was its motive for activation.

Its internal warning beeped erratically as its sensor registered movements from ahead – incoming Autobots, for sure. Its programming insisted it to find a cover but the area was bare as long as the hallways went; there were shadows at a place or two along the wall, and there was where it went to hide. It froze itself as the pedes passed by, not a step missing to indicate the owner having noticed the tiny intruder. The nanobot waited until the Autobot, a mech of short stature and blue paintjob were out of its sights and only then it initiated moving again. The internal map of the Ark that it had composed during its wandering for these past orns was used to navigate itself to the intended location. The spy-nanobot had not the sentience to 'feel' grateful because it encountered no other Autobots afterwards and it made its passage all the faster. After all, it had a tight schedule to follow.

It was not long before the Decepticon's spy found the gaping doorway of the Command Deck loomed over it. Lights from inside spilled out, the illumination had been apparently set on the highest and indicating Autobot presence. Cautiously, it crept forwards and peered inside. There was mech sitting on a chair and facing the bright monitors that displayed recordings from security cameras all over the Ark. It knew this Autobot's identity, having been supplied with the information of him beforehand as one of those it should be careful with; this was the Security Director whose senses were calibrated to astronomical sensitivity. In the silence of the Command Deck, even its light steps could possibly be detected by him. It was forced to retreat into nearby patches of shadows and wait for opportunity to present itself – and fortunately, it did not have to wait long.

A Datsun-former soon walked in, his steps rigid and formal. Angling its optic upwards, the Decepticon infiltrator zoomed in on the features, noticing that a pair of doorwings was sported on the back. This one was also identifiable since he held an important position in the Autobot – Prowl, the Second-In-Command, and while his biodata emphasized on his caution, his perception were not as sensitive as Red Alert's were. It would be safe for the spy-nanobot to move now since the sound of its entry would be drowned by the Autobot's Second pede-steps. Nevertheless, it was still a dangerous gamble as it sprinted out from its hiding place and towards the far side of the supercomputer's interface console, keeping to the shadows as much as it could. It was a worthy gamble for its passing was unnoticeable, and further detection now was highly unlikely with both Autobots were now engaged in a deep discussion.

The spy-nanobot scuttled along the length of the control panel, seeking for an opening that it could manipulate. Its sensitive leg-tips found irregularity as it walked, the discovery stopping it for further inspection. True enough, it was a seam marking a closed panel, underneath which housed Teletraan-I's wiring and circuitries. A perfect target. A small hole at the front of its frame opened and a tiny laser scalpel was produced which it then plunged into the tiny gaps between the seams. The heat and friction generated weakened the structure as the spy-nanobot methodically ran the white-hot scalpel along the lines. Once or twice it paused in its work, checking to see if it had somehow been spotted but the Autobots were oblivious to its doing – they were now absorbed over a few datapads that Prowl was showing the other. The drone decided that it was safe to continue, and so it did, until part of the panel-cover was detached from the surrounding edge. It was not much, but it gave enough for the nanobot's tiny claws, replaced from the laser scalpel, to pry it open.

A peek into the cavity revealed an extensive array of circuits and wires, with occasional sparks being emitted as electricity ran through the connections. There were so many more inside which made up Teletraan-I itself but the spy-nanobot had no full knowledge of what they were, only those which concerned its mission. And so, motivated by the goal set by its master, it slipped through the pried panel into the physical aspect of the Ark's supercomputer, carefully manoeuvring its tiny body through the obstacles in its search for the right place to begin its task.

As the Decepticon minion set to work, Prowl and Red Alert were still debating about the efficiency of Wheeljack's new defence system – whether it was reliable or otherwise to apply it as a protective measure for the Ark – and yet, they were unaware that the immediate threat was right under their nasal ridge, already infiltrating the supercomputer of which they heavily depended upon. While they were engrossed in the argument, they had no idea that a crippling virus was already spreading in Teletraan-I's systems, waiting only the right moment to be activated.

_**xxxxx**_

It was not intended that Mirage and Hound to meet Optimus's strike team, but it happened so as the latter was en route to the location of the Decepticon's Space Bridge. It was already a quarter from the journey to get there and the place was the last town before they entered the forest area; it was here that Mirage and Hound had waited for them to arrive, having decided to add whatever firepower they could despite sustaining damages themselves. They had been dismayed that they could not do more damages to the Decepticons before leaving the site in considering the high possibility of being captured, which was why they were rather determined to make up for it. In fact, so insistent they were in this resolve that the Prime found it futile to argue any further even after telling them that they had performed as best as could be hoped.

"Very well," Optimus, who was now in his bipedal form like the rest of the Autobots, spoke with a sighing outtake, "but only if Ratchet deems you're qualified enough." He glanced meaningfully in the CMO's direction, who in turn nodded his understanding.

They obediently remained motionless as Ratchet came forward to inspect their physiques and internals with the almost-magical touch of his servo, assessing them whether they were capable for the incoming combats. Mirage passed the test easily with minor injuries but Hound endures an extra klik of inspection; his damaged hologram projector gave him no discomfort but it did roused worry in the medic. Upon further checking though, Ratchet grudgingly admitted that the tracker could participate too, albeit with the slight disadvantage that Hound would not be able to use his special ability.

Ratchet's glare was enough to tell how he preferred them to go straight back to the Ark and get themselves repaired, but he said nothing. Hound noticed this and promised, "Come on, Ratchet. We swear we'll go straight to the med-bay when we're done with the 'Cons."

Mirage nodded his support and Hound smiled as best as he could under the medic's powerful gaze, which was admittedly a difficult feat under the circumstances. In the end, the medic relented and let them celebrated this minor victory with gleeful looks at each other before addressing the patiently waiting Optimus, relaying many useful advices on various aspects, particularly of which routes to take to avoid early detection and minimal discomfort. Ever the great listener, the truck-former accepted their words gratefully, knowing that their journeys would be made easier because of their insights. Hound also mentioned Powerglide's desire to join them when he was well-rested – flying was undeniably faster than ground-travelling, but it was also exhaustive, not to mention Powerglide's non-stop flight to reach Hound and Mirage and the consequent travels he made to deliver the human boys to civilization. Jazz leaned in to listen too because it had been pre-programmed in him to drink in as much information as he could, suitable with his general role as a saboteur, while the Twins were apparently bickering about who was about to kick more Decepticon afts. Ironhide consented himself to kicking rocks while waiting for the 'talking' bit to end, impatient as to when they would get to the good old 'beating-the-slag-out-of-the-'Cons' part. A rare member of an offensive team, Blaster, who prefers to conduct scouting missions in the city with Tracks, was making himself comfortable by sitting cross-legged on the grass-grown soil, listening to the internal music from local radio stations – he had volunteered to participate in this mission because of the mere excuse to break out from inactivity with the Decepticons being strangely quiet for these past quartex.

"Good work, Hound, Mirage. With luck, we might be able to reach them before the Space Bridge is repaired," the Prime concluded after done consulting with them. There was a annoyingly nagging feeling in the back of his processors, warning that despite all of the precautions and analysis, what they were doing was still considerably reckless. Nevertheless, it was too late to turn back now – and whatever else that would happen, they would just have to make do. Suppressing the urge to do otherwise, Optimus vocalized, "Autobots, transform and roll out!"

The soldiers did as commanded immediately, the variants in their transformation sequences gave an illusion as if performing a badly orchestrated yoga. In nanokliks, though, the 'yoga' was ended and eight vehicles (plus Blaster's boom box alt-form, which leapt into van-Ironhide's backseat upon completion) emerged out of the folding forms of robotic bodies; Hound was the last to finish the process, having damaged structures that slightly hindered smooth alteration. Were Ratchet in his bipedal mode, his faceplates would be scowling – as it was, only his vocal tone conveyed his reluctant agreement to let him – and Mirage – to come along, "I'm still saying you better get back and have Grapple fix you up. And this means you too, Mirage."

"I'm fine" and "I'm going anyway", coming from Mirage and Hound respectively, answered in unison.

"C'mon, doc. S'not like they're goin' to explode or sumthin'!" Jazz chirped in, engines happily rumbling as it waited for the e-brake to be released.

Ratchet's growling engine substituted his grumbling, knowing the futility of insisting at this rate. He issued no further defiance afterwards, only keeping his worry tuned inwards so he would not elapsed into what Sunstreaker usually called his 'Sparkling-sitter mood'. Optimus Prime, his engines already idling while waiting for agreeable arrangement between Ratchet and his charges, put himself into gear and led his team along the rudimentary road leading into the forest as had been advised by the Autobot tracker before; Jazz was right behind his leader due to his high rank while Hound and Mirage came next, serving as the team's guides. Ironhide brought up the rear, owing to his toughness in the unwanted event of being ambushed from behind. It was a vulnerable positioning with them travelling in single file but the road's width did not permit two cars to pass at the same time. Widening the trails would be impractical and time-consuming, not to mention the fact that they would waste their ammunition's energy that should have been spent on Decepticons.

There were tyre-tracks covering the muddy surface but Hound had ensured that it was his and Mirage's, imprinted there upon their emergency flight from the Space Bridge site. The assurance calmed the truck-former somewhat and he was further convinced by the fact that no trees were marred by Cybertronian-characteristic laser burn marks which would surely be there had there had been any Decepticon here – the Constructicons were not exactly known for their ginger movements. Still, suspicion nagged at the edge of Optimus's CPU at the lack of enemies.

"Hound, didn't any of the Constructicons give chase after you made the assault?"

"They didn't really spot me, actually. It's a lucky shot that got my holo-projector." Hound paused in his explanation, racking his processors for more possibilities of the Constructicon's reluctance to react aggressively. "And something about not being allowed to leave the site unprotected, apparently an order straight from Megatron."

"It seems that Prowl is right – Megatron has only one chance at opening the Space Bridge and deliver the energon cubes. That will explain his over-protectiveness on this site."

Further conversation was scarce afterwards since the Autobots were more concerned with their coming mission and their surroundings. Scanner swept the area for any sign of hostile individuals while other sensory perceptions were similarly tuned to increase their security level. Through unspoken consent, neither of them was willing to solely depend on the hope that the Constructicons would completely obey Megatron's order if they thought that searching for the offensive source would serve their ends better. The day rolled by as they did the trees lining the path; the sun was approaching the horizon now, its last lights weak and seemed to be waving farewell for Earth-dwellers until tomorrow came. For the Autobots, darkness was not as restrictive as it was to humans but it still put limit in their efficiency and Optimus knew this. His processors were silently busy with the processing of information, churning out suggestions of the perfect time to make the attacks. It would seem that dawn would make a good time since it would give his troops time to recuperate from their journeys and drained the Constructicons of their all-night vigil – that was, until Hound's voice brought the attentions of his comrades to the sky.

"Decepticons incoming!" The scanner installed at the back swung up and around, pointing towards two contrails, faint against the darkening sky though still visible to their optics, of which front ends were led by two dots identifiable as aircrafts. To be more precise, a dark-grey shuttle and Soviet-styled jet fighter. There were no mistaking the vehicles to be the Decepticon triple-changers, Astrotrain and Blitzwing.

"Headin' straight to where we're goin'," Jazz supplied – and he was right. The straight flight-path indicated that they were not going to deviate from meeting their Constructicon comrades, providing that the latter were still obeying Megatron's instruction to stay put. "Where's Powerglide when ya' need 'im?"

"They must have their cargo bays fully loaded with energon cubes." The Autobot Supreme Commander's grave tone was a mirror to the feelings that assaulted his Spark. Though there was no confirmation, the fact that Astrotrain was almost always tasked with delivery and transportation was a confirmation by itself as to the intention of his and Blitzwing's coming. The idea of dawn-time strike suddenly seemed very unimpressive to the semi-truck.

"Autobots, accelerate!" He barked out and shifted into higher gear, but the Prime soon found out that the hellishly bumpy road made speeding up quite impossible and that frustrated the leader even more. They struggled to remain on-course while keeping up with each other – the Twins and Mirage were the individuals most affected by this condition due to their unsuitable alt-modes but outside a few groans and _ouchs_, they displayed admirable resistance to the discomfort (Sunstreaker was actually dying to complaint but he did not dare since Ratchet was travelling right behind him). The collective rumbles of engines racing towards the hill were sure to carry towards the Decepticons by now but there were little that they could do. Optimus had made the choice – trapped between the desire for secrecy and the need for speed, he had opted for the latter.

"Blaster, analysis!" Optimus's shouted order was barely heard above the mixed noises that normal humans would have trouble hearing. Blaster, however, was particularly gifted with soundwave-related matters; the ability to sort out the background chaos and his sensitive audios enable him to catch his leader's words and did as was told.

"No Space Bridge-characteristic radiation, Prime sir. Looks like their toy's still down."

The worry still lingered but had considerably lessened by Blaster's report. There might still chance to sabotage the Decepticon's plan for the energon cubes but he dared not reduce his speed. Much too slowly, the megamiles between them shortened until the individual Decepticons were visible without zooming in – a full Constructicon team with Scavenger, Scrapper and Mixmaster sustained heavy enough injuries to register in their movements but none of them were unarmed. Blitzwing and Astrotrain were high overhead, preparing themselves to land, weapon systems and radar activated to active scanning in case there were enemies that their optics did not already detect. In Optimus Prime's processors, he could almost see the imaginary line dividing the region of safety and danger, a line always present whenever he came into battles, as if offering a chance to turn back and secured his activation.

Optimus had never accepted the offer; he crossed the line boldly as he had crossed it million of times before. A shout tore from his vocalizer, encouragement to his soldiers and menace to the oppositions, "Autobots, transform and ATTACK!"

His truck-mode chassis stretched and rearranged to form his robotic body, his subspace swallowing the gray container into its depth and spitting out his laser gun in return; similar transformation, minus the container-stowing, was undergone by the rest of the Autobots, changing their moving manner from rolling to running without missing a beat. This was a routine that they had learned on the job and perfected over the many stellar cycles of war. This was something they were good at. That, and Decepticon-bashing.

The Autobot force split in pre-determined groups. Optimus, as always, was followed by his loyal friend-plus-bodyguard and they charged straight ahead; Jazz was with Blaster, taking the offense on the right side; left was the region of the Twins and Ratchet, while Mirage and Hound circled the hill to mount an assault from behind. This strategy was the most effective when the enemies were in tight space but Optimus knew that a cornered individual was as much of a danger as he was to his attackers. The thought left him when a Constructicon, unidentifiable in the craziness of the situation, tackled him just as he managed to haul himself over the hilltop. Beside him, so near and yet so far removed, Ironhide's enraged yell echoed as laser shots burst out from the nozzle of his gun. The Earth trembled under the fury of the Transformers as the battle was finally joined.

_**xxxxx**_

Starscream's own genetic-coded hardiness urged the failing universal override codes to terminate completely. His systems surged alive as if celebrating the victory, sensornets quickly reconnecting with his CPU and sensory perceptions flared to full reception. His vocalizer was first physical capability to be released and a groan escaped him the moment it did – his auditory perception, the second to become functional after touch-sensors, detected that it was a sound of discomfort, yet within it was tinged with the pleasure of knowing that he had made it. His optics onlined themselves slowly; the owner was in no rush to see, having been told of everything he wanted to know by touch and scent and hearing. When visual feedbacks came to him, what he saw confirmed his guess; he was lying on the berth in his prison cell, his pede now re-cuffed and restricted to movements not exceeding the length of the chain which was attached to the back wall. He saw everything that he expected to see...except for a particular Autobot. A large, white Autobot flyer.

_Where is Skyfire?_

The shuttle's size and colouration would have made him noticeable even in an environment such as this but he was nowhere to be seen. Starscream's irritation at the loneliness was pushed back when he realized that his processors were receiving feedbacks from neural connections that had been deactivated for a while now. Familiar sensations that he had been longing to experience filled him with joy and he pushed himself off the berth into sitting almost impatiently. It took some neck-cable twisting but he eventually managed to peer at the wings behind him and was gladdened by what he saw; white and meticulously shaped to resemble his previous ones, he could not even tell that these were a new pair at the first glance if not for the absence of Decepticon symbols on the surface. Of course, why would the Autobot medic graced him with that much luxury – and besides, they might be hoping to defect him to their side. Well, at least they did not have the tenacity of branding him with Autobot emblem without asking first. A servo reached back to feel the much –treasured flight appendages – his digit-tips touched the sloping plane of the left wings' upper edge, the metal cool and smooth to his warm touch. Starscream shivered involuntarily at the pleasure that coursed through him. Sensitive, but it was as they should be. His servo shifted to confirm the existence of the left one, finding it in a matter of nanokliks and was just as receptive to stimuli. Starscream was grinning as wide as he could by now, the grin only growing when he felt the wings responded to his delight with slight fluttering, indicating normal functionality. He then deliberately stretched the joints and tested them, rotating and shifting them in various manners to check for flexibility. They passed all of his inspection, and the glee that warmed his circuitries felt as if he had been indulging on too much high-grades.

That thought suddenly made him realized that he was under-energized. His fuel tank was almost empty since all of the energon stored had been processed and consumed to assist his self-repair systems achieving circuit integration between his wings and the rest of his chassis faster. The Seeker's optics hopefully sought the source if there was something consumable around and immediately found a medium-sized energon cube placed at a corner of the berth, far enough that Starscream would not accidentally knock it over in recharge-filled movements and yet sufficiently near to reach with mere stretching of the servo without needing to move his entire chassis. That would be Skyfire's doing, of course. Nobody else would be was as meticulous or considering in their actions. With a smile, Starscream grabbed at the translucent cube. An appetizing aroma of energon filled his olfactory sensor that tugged at his tank and urged to be drunk. The Seeker cast all the conditioned 'table manners' and gulped down the substance down his energon intake tubing, feeling refreshing chill spread into his systems as he continued consuming it. Inevitably, his processors were lured into processors-drift at this providence of comfort, memories reeling back to when he was still adjusting to the title of Air Commander. It was so long ago and so far away in place, and yet the sensations seemed too real to be imaginations...

Starscream sipped slowly from his cube, wanting to enjoy the best it has to offer while squeezing out the details of that moment. The faceplates of Megatron – proud, strong and strangely father-like – was replayed in the Seeker's processors. His leader rarely smiled, but as he came back from his first assignment after being an Air Commander, the harsh features twisted into something that bordered on satisfaction. There was no true smile, only a small tugging at the corner of his lip-components. That had given him all the reasons to be proud, and when the gun-former dropped a servo on his shoulder-struts, the gesture being accompanied by "Well done, Starscream ," the tetra-jet felt as if on top of Cybertron. He had been praised!

_Where was the praise now, Megatron? _

Starscream's Spark rebelled as reality inserted itself, drowning his sweet recollections. He had craved for the same affectionate touch, the same encouraging words ever since then and for a time, the ex-gladiator continued to provide them. It had been a gradual transition, so gradual, in fact, that Starscream had not realized the moment his spirit-lifting words mutated into exclamations of anger; there were no longer congratulatory pats, only heavy beating when he came back less than expected. From that violence, only more of it was bred; Starscream responded with disloyalty and rebellion. There was no more hero-worshipping his leader, only envy for the throne that he sat upon. There were times when the Seeker would sometimes look back and reflected how things could have been different from now and the wishful thinking would end up hurting him instead...such as now.

The unwelcomed grief that swelled and constricted his Spark receded suddenly when Starscream realized that he was no longer alone in the brig; pede-steps approached from the direction of the main entrance, hollow and calculated, as was the way Skyfire's always sounded when he walked. The Decepticon Seeker forced the thoughts of Megatron down into the deepest recess of his CPU and allowed the happiness from having his wings back to reshape his faceplates – he wanted to greet the shuttle with appropriate expressions. He had, after all, been largely responsible for it.

When Skyfire appeared at the prison's entrance, he obviously did not expect to find Starscream already awake for his optics brightened in mild surprise– the smile that blossomed afterwards told the Seeker that it was a good surprise. A wave of his servo gestured the Autobot to come inside which he did happily. Starscream saw that he had a holo-board in one of his servo and a digital pen between his digits as Skyfire followed the security procedures to be allowed into the cell. He wondered briefly what they were for but the unimportant thoughts could not compete with the excitement of having the shuttle with him. His red optics looked up at the towering figure that had halted in front of him, struggling to keep the awe from flashing in his optics. In turn, Skyfire's blue optics studied him, from the top of the helm to the wings quivering faintly behind the Seeker, then to the cockpit at the front and all the way down to his pedes.

"How do you feel?" The shuttle asked and sat down beside Starscream. The digital pen was poised over the holo-board, ready to jot down whatever signs that he deemed important enough for notice.

"Fine. Now put that thing away, Skyfire. It's killing my mood," Starscream snapped and leaned to the side, trying to snatch the stationeries from Skyfire's hold. With a chuckle, the shuttle raised his servos, and the objects with them, high above his helm where they were out of Starscream's reach.

"Not before I finish inspecting you. Ratchet has told me to keep record on your conditions every joor. It won't be long."

At the mention of the Autobot Chief Medic's designation, the heat in his Spark flared throughout his systems in a sudden wave of jealousy. Skyfire had been mentioning that Pit-damned glitch quite a few times now and the jet-former found it unsettlingly annoying that there was so much room in the shuttle's CPU spared for the medic. Still, he could see that persisting would only delay matters so he surrendered, though his arms that crossed over his cockpit and the vents huffing out air in noisy rush spoke much of his dissatisfaction. Fortunately, Skyfire made good of his promise, using his in-built scanner to diagnose Starscream's basic functions. It was not as accurate or detailed compared to that which possessed by Ratchet but it sufficed for the time's requirements, and Starscream was looking perfectly well. Information gleaned from the diagnosis was written neatly on the holo-board. Starscream peered at the glowing surface and caught glimpses of the shuttle's smooth, flowing glyphs, the same style of writing he had used since his time in the Science Academy. Skyfire finished his writing with an obvious jot before stowing the holo-board away into his sub-space. By this time, Starscream's reserve of patience had been completely exhausted – besides, he never had much of it anyway – and grabbed hold of the other's servo in demand of his attention, knocking off the digital pen from Skyfire's digits in the process. It rolled away and fell off the berth, where the shuttle-former attempted to retrieve it but he was stopped by the insistent tugging on his servos.

"Skyfire, are you going to give that pen more attention than you give me?" Starscream's tone was almost sulky when he said these. He had been dying to share his joy, and all the inspection was draining his positive feelings very quickly.

Said shuttle seemed to consider the words and the hidden implications behind them and decided that if he needed to write again, there were plenty of others that he could use in his living quarters. He abandoned the digital pen and turned to obey Starscream's whims, letting his optics looked directly on the jet-former's dark faceplates. "Certainly not. That pen is not as interesting as you are, in any case."

Starscream suppressed the happy grin from showing on his faceplates but he knew that he was betrayed nevertheless by the slight flutters of his wings; he felt as well as seeing evidence of it for Skyfire's gaze jumped from the Decepticon's optics to somewhere behind him, where he knew his wings rose from his back-plating. Skyfire's expressions softened even more at this sight. His right servo was extended, the digit-tips touching lightly on the leading edge of a wing. The touch made subtle quivers ran through the jet-former's chassis even though it was quite certain that Skyfire had not meant it to cause such sensations.

"Can you turn around? I want to check the welded joints – see if it has hardened properly," there was a troubled note in the shuttle's voice, almost guilty-sounding, that other mechs would not have noticed if they had not the level of familiarity with the Autobot flyer. Knowing Skyfire, though, Starscream was sure that the guilt had not been born out of his own action, but rather the unintentional reaction he induced in the Seeker. Wordlessly, Starscream allowed himself to be turned around by the servos subtly pushing him to the side, goading him to expose his winged back. No amount of persuasion could convince him to put himself in this vulnerable position except for Skyfire; his touches had never been painful to him.

There was a momentary pause in the large mech's part when Starscream had been positioned as he desired. Unsettled, Starscream turned his helm and peered behind; Skyfire's servo hovered a Cybertronian inch or so above his left wing, an aura of hesitance surrounding him as if he feared that doing so would offend the Seeker. Starscream's look conveyed his permission to act further and that was all the encouragement that Skyfire needed; at first, only his index digit made contact, the tips running along the upper edge with care that Starscream appreciated very much. Then, other digits gradually joined the first, travelling and exploring new places that made the Decepticon bit his lip-components; it felt so _slagging _good! Slight shudders coursed through his chassis and the stroking halted whenever he gave such reactions but it would be resumed when Starscream forced himself to relax. It took all of his willpower not to make sounds that could be misinterpreted, knowing that Skyfire over-carefulness tended to drive him into such positions but when the huge servo gently ran down the line joining the wings to his back-plating, a gasp was unwillingly coaxed out from his vocal cord.

"I-I'm sorry," Skyfire's shaky voice stuttered from behind, following the retreats of the naively talented fingers from the sensitized wings. "I don't know that it still hurts..."

_Damn him! _Starscream's processors retorted at the withdrawal of pleasure, wrenching an angry snarl from his vocalizer. Something hot, almost violent in nature surged through his circuitries and processors, his irritation having depleted his patience completely after all these while of holding back. _When would he realize that...!_

The sentence was never finished as the angry hotness consumed the Seeker's self-control. With an almost feral aggression, Starscream twisted out of Skyfire's lingering servos and kicked with all the power his legs could muster, propelling him forwards in a sudden burst of speed. The momentum as Starscream's chassis collided with the white torso of the shuttle as well as Skyfire's own unpreparedness sent the much larger mech tumbling backwards, a feat almost impossible to be done in normal circumstances. A tiny _unf! _escaped Skyfire's throat-cable when his back landed on the berth hard with Starscream's servos still clinging fiercely to his chassis. The flare of his optics spoke of worry that bordered on panic and when his mouth was opened to question what was going on, Starscream's helm plunged down with his lip-components parted. Skyfire's surprised gasp was muffled, the sound partially swallowed as his own mouth was ravaged in the ensuing open-mouthed kiss from the Decepticon jet. The shuttle's initial struggle was feebled by the spirit of the other, feeling as if the Decepticon's much lighter weight being multiplied tenfold, holding him to the berth firmly and prevented his rising.

With difficulty, Skyfire managed to tear his lips away from Starscream, freeing his mouth to speak, "_Starscream, what are you doing?!_"

_Claiming you as my own,_ Starscream fiercely thought but it was never voiced. That was his lust speaking, not his functional processors. "You with all this doubt is frustrating, Sky! You want me, but what you do is hover out of my reach and contented yourself to watch from afar!"

His servos, which had been busily groping all over Skyfire's torso, found a transformation seam just wide enough for two of his digits to invade. He pushed his fore- and index digits into it and pinched at the first wire he found, eliciting a pain-pleasure gasp from the large flyer. Starscream used his free servo to pull the white helm to himself and gave Skyfire another searing kiss, only this time he brook no denial. His glossa forced its way into the opened mouth and invaded the warm, slick cave of the shuttle's oral cavity. Skyfire's metallic tongue futilely defended its territory but was easily subdued an astrosecond later by the expert licks and sucks. Unable to gain control, Skyfire could only moan and helplessly endure the sweet torture offered to him, responding to the glossa in his mouth and the fingers playing with the wires underlying his armours. He was nearly lost in the sea of ecstasy when the dominative lip-components were removed from his, abruptly cutting off his source of pleasure.

Starscream was looking down at him hard, optics blazing with an internal fire of passion that had been suppressed for an unhealthy period of time. "Nine million stellar cycles! _Nine_! I was convinced that you've been deactivated when you were carried off by that storm! I was in haywire for quartexes, thinking that I've lost you forever! I was forced to abandon you!"

Skyfire struggled to articulate a response but his processors were too far gone in the lust provided by the digits that were stroking his sensitive tubing. His lips were parted and then closed, then opened again, choking out half-spoken sentence. "S-starscream...we c-cant – _Ugh_!"

"And then...I found you again, here on this mudball of a planet, stasis-locked but recoverable. I was happier than I ever was since that accident. I thought that we could be together again...but no, you leave me yet again and joined the Autobots!"

The jet-former ignored the unintelligible mumbling from his partner and forced Skyfire's helm upwards with his one free servo. His victim jerked in surprise when Starscream plunged his faceplates into the exposed neck-cabling, denta nipping at the various tubing and cables that caused the shuttle to whimper like a Sparkling. "Y-you fire at me...! When I r-refuse to terminate the – _Ah! _– Autobots...a-and at the Inca temple...! I thought that – _Ohh!_"

Starscream stopped in his advance, feeling the usual guilt and heaviness burdening his Spark whenever his thoughts were directed in this particular direction. His nips turning into gentle glossa-swiping along the main energon line, the Decepticon Seeker mumbled in between the licks, "I don't want to do it, but I have to. Megatron...he will punish me if he knew that I was being...'soft'. He did not tolerate mercy from his troops to the enemies, and you're an Autobot. You're an enemy, Skyfire, but _only_ to him. You're always my friend – more than that, even – to me."

The chassis underneath him stopped its pathetic struggling when the answers registered themselves into Skyfire's CPU. Starscream took the momentary elapse to crawl forward on the chest-piece, carefully keeping his mouth on the shuttle's being all the time; from underneath the chin-guard, the lip-components migrated up until he found Skyfire's lower lip, parted slightly from its upper counterpart. Skyfire's glossa instinctively came out to mingle with Starscream's own, entwining themselves in an intoxicating dance. Skyfire's servos were lifted to touch Starscream's body, intending to provide his partner with as much pleasure as he was receiving it but a warning hiss from the jet prevented himself from carrying it out so he contented himself to grip at the berth's edges and held on for the sensations that barraged his systems. At the same time, the Seeker reached up, fingers blindly groping for the enticing expanses of Skyfire's flight appendages. Even now, he could hear the faint slapping sounds when the wings, agitated into arousal and trapped below Skyfire's own chassis, fluttered against the unyielding berth underneath.

"_Ohhh..._yes! There...! Touch me there!"

Starscream found the wings easily and was already working on its surface; he rubbed and stroked, tickled and scratched at the smooth plating until the sensor networks were maximally sensitized so that even the inevitable friction with the surface of the berth caused his lust to burn more intensely. Starscream craftily pinched the edges where he knew were the most sensitive; Skyfire's massive body arched and squirmed into the touches, his vocalizer no longer uttering words but panting moans. Since the shuttle-former's girth was wider than the spreading of Starscream's arms, he was forced to shift his attention alternately between the right and left wings. Nevertheless, Starscream successfully coaxed out cries after cries of passion from his willing victim, driving his own jet-engine revving at the highest gear as he was rewarded with the beautiful sight of Skyfire submissive to his ministrations. Harsh vibrations and the rumbling sounds from under him told that the Autobot's engine was just as taxed. The bucking of his hips increased in tempo to the point that Starscream was almost thrown off but he held on, further abusing the wings until Skyfire's air cycling was almost erratic. It was then, only astroseconds before the shuttle reached his premature release, Starscream released his hold on the wings, now wet with condensation, and sat up straight on the white torso.

"_Starscream_...!" Skyfire's optics, if before dimmed in preparation for the overload, flared bright and pleading to be completed. The Seeker enjoyed this power he held over the huge shuttle, to reduce such a mighty warrior into a writhing mass of metals desperate for his attention. Indeed, Skyfire looked like anything but a soldier right now; faint pink glow coloured his cheek-plating, both from exertion of the activity and the embarrassment that came with it. Condensation was now slick all over the white chassis, especially on his faceplates. The rushes of air being vented out from the shuttle's pectoral vents drowned those of Starscream's as his systems worked to normalize his core temperature. Clear oral lubricant was seeping out from a corner of the lip-components which twitched in soundless utterance of the Seeker's designation. He was looking at Starscream like a helpless photovoltaic pussycat begging to be fed, waiting and hoping for those wonderful digits and lips to return. Starscream did nothing, only returning the stare and grinning triumphantly over his prize.

It was a full klik before Starscream made any indication that he still realized Skyfire's discomfort and by then, his prey had lost all hope of ever reaching the peak of passion. The jet-former bent down until his yellow cockpit was scraping against the white paintjob of Skyfire's chest-plating and whispered, "See? You're hot for me, Sky. Only for _me_!"

Skyfire, breathless with exhaustion and anticipation, mumbled weakly, "Please..."

Starscream chuckled, a mixture of diabolical and musical sounds. Skyfire's faceplates were soon rained with sloppy kisses, sensuous and yet dominating, demanding for the shuttle's full submission. Again, his white servos tried to touch the Seeker, wanting to stroke and petted the jet-former's sleek chassis but he was deterred by a snarl between the seductive licks on his cheek-plating. The meaning sank easily into Skyfire's CPU and he resolved to never attempt similar feat, fearing that Starscream's displeasure might result in denied overload for the second time. Feeling the hands fell away from his sides, Starscream's grin and sense of power inflated massively, realizing that he now held the shuttle completely in his sway. The jet continued to lay more kisses while he let his own roamed over the broad chassis underneath him, skimming over the surfaces, exploring crevices and seams that he could manipulate while feeling Skyfire's frame heating up more and more with each nanoklik he spent toying with him. It was an intoxicating feeling, made more potent by the fact that Starscream had been fantasizing the huge shuttle in such situations numerous times before. The sounds of wing-slapping returned as his lust reached the same state of near-overload, but instead of returning to treat to those flight appendages, Starscream slid his chassis downward until his hips were level with the other's. The sound of Skyfire gasping in surprised arousal was almost as rewarding as the pleasurable frictions that were generated when he started grinding their crotch-plates together; their metals creaking with tension as the Seeker repeatedly slammed and rubbed their chasses. Skyfire attempted in vain to stifle the uncharacteristic mewling his vocalizer spilled out but his body betrayed him for his hips were thrusting in rhythm with Starscream's. The Decepticon seemed to be delighted at the shuttle's helplessness in controlling his own reactions and moved faster, causing the Autobot to writhe more vigorously, his groans growing louder and needier –

_Schick!_

It was an almost imperceptible sound where Skyfire's vocalizations nearly overwhelmed all other noise, but it was exactly what Starscream had been waiting for. Even the shuttle seemed horrified by what he had been goaded to do and let out a pitiful whimper when he saw the predatory smirk on Starscream's faceplates. In one smooth movement, the Seeker unseated himself from his perch on the Autobot's midriff and off the berth altogether. Skyfire struggled to rise up when the extra weight had been removed but he was held down by the Seeker's glare. His rapid cycles or air spoke of his excitement and worry of what would come next but his legs, which had been left dangling on the berth's edge, were instinctively clamped together as Starscream neared them. In his current heated state though, all it took were well-placed touches on the sensitive thighs for Skyfire to allow access to his groin. Starscream squeezed himself into the small space before the shuttle could gain the necessary motor control to close them again. The pink aura of embarrassment intensified when he realized where Starscream's optics were focusing themselves on. His thighs tried to shield his exposedness but the lithe chassis between them kept the legs spread – his last defence were his servos which were now reaching down to cover himself. Starscream growled at the pathetic hindrance and batted the hands away with ease, revealing an array of fully activated interfacing components nestled at the fork of his legs.

"N-no...please..." Skyfire's smooth voice came out as a squeak at the embarrassing nakedness. His attempts at recovering some dignity were repeatedly foiled for Starscream was adamant at keeping the shuttle as revealing as possible – and indeed, Skyfire had nothing to hide anymore save for his Spark – and even Starscream was not abominable enough to get near it unless out of mutual concession.

Still, the sight that was laid before Starscream's bright-staring optics was a beautiful one; with the covering panel retracted, Skyfire's valve and spike were completely revealed to the Seeker. Energon lubricant glistened at the faintly pulsating rim of his receptive part and some trickled out from its warm depth, seemingly in invitation to be played with. But what caught Starscream's attention was the shuttle's penetrative component – a series of interconnecting rings making up a flexible rod, fully pressurized and ready to serve. Mauve pre-lubricant was oozing out in streams from the bulging connector hub that capped the interfacing end. At first, the Decepticon looked absolutely shocked by the size of his partner's spike...it was just natural that Skyfire's interfacing components would be proportionate to his chassis's, but by the love of his life, it was the biggest that Starscream had ever seen! He wondered how many mechs had had the daring to take the shuttle in...and realized an astrosecond later that there might be none.

"Star...scream..." Skyfire breathed out when he felt warm digits making contact with his member; it took a lot of composure to not reduce himself even lower and push into the gentle grasp but Starscream was just sinfully talented at this. Fleeting touches danced along the length and sometimes, the tip would be teasingly flicked but it was neither hard enough nor long enough for the shuttle's satisfaction. Starscream took his sweet time to drink in the details; enticingly white with red streaks, it was about half the length of Starscream's entire arm. It visibly twitched whenever stimuli were given, followed by Skyfire's gasped moans for more – the chord was clearly calibrated above the usual sensitivity and it suited the Seeker just fine. He spent a full klik keeping the shuttle in the desperation before giving in, both servos grasping the member hard and gave it a testing squeeze, earning himself a choked sob from the large flyer. The shy Autobot was truly a sight when he was excited and his vocalizations were even more so – the observations were enough to cause Starscream's own frame to heat up in lust. Even his own spike was begging to be released from its housing but he held on – it never hurt to please the other, especially when your partner could make such beautiful sounds when correctly touched. With that in CPU, Starscream adjusted his grip and placed one servo at the member's base to steady it while his other one started a slow, steady pumping on the middle. Merely a nervous whimper at first, Skyfire's vocalizer grew more generous with the groans when the stroking on his stiff chord increased in pace. Fresh lubricant spurted out from the already wet tip, drenching the length in purple fluid as it flowed down to the base. The chassis became even more restless for overload was starting to creep back into Skyfire's circuitries. When Starscream's thumb rubbed at the hub's front end, the shuttle could not keep the lusty cries to himself, his hips undulating wildly upon feeling a digit poking into the tiny lubrication pore. A few more strokes and he would be finished – Skyfire could already feel some of his minor functions shutting down in preparation for it – but like before, he was denied of overload only a few nanokliks before it claimed him, Starscream's servos leaving their places just as the spike stiffened to ejaculate.

Again, Starscream allowed his friend a few astroseconds of respite while waiting for the shuttle's overload to slip away, leaving Skyfire weak and whorishly needy for his ministrations. The Seeker had never thought that a frustrated Skyfire could look so beautiful – that bright, flickering optics, the lips wet with attempts to voice out his pleasure, the twitching, quivering wings behind him...Primus, even looking at him was enough to drive the Seeker crazy with selfish desires! Absently licking his lip-components, Starscream redirected his gaze downwards where another of Skyfire's pleasure centre waited to be noticed. Granted, all Cybertronians could reach overload with connections either to the spike or the port – it only a matter of taste, and while the Decepticon was not sure which one was Skyfire's choice, he certainly preferred the valve of his partner.

With the owner now in desperate need to reach overload, the valve mirrored the feelings and gave a reactive throb to the sensation of being looked at. Starscream's amusement was building up at the impatience shown by his lover – so rarely did Skyfire participate in such acts, it seemed that it would not take very much to completely undo the shuttle. It made Starscream wondered all the more...just how many chords, or even digits for that matter, had invaded Skyfire's interfacing port? Back when they were in Science Academy, the jet had not known Skyfire to interface with anyone outside a few candidates for permanent bondmates (of whom all failed since they got frustrated with the shuttle's reserved nature). Still musing on this thought, he brought a digit to the valve and rimmed the dripping entrance. The blatant touch made the Autobot jumped slightly in fear of being treated without proper preparations, but the slow, circular motions around his valve soon brought down his nervousness. He allowed himself to relax fractionally, letting Starscream to do to him as he would despite the lingering embarrassment in being other's viewing pleasure. He almost sobbed when the Seeker's digit teased him further into wetness while never truly penetrating the hungry cavity, making it ached and clenched around nothing.

"Please...don't t-tease me...!" Skyfire whined even as he canted his hip-plate to encourage penetration, bringing a not-so-innocent smile to the Seeker's dark lips.

"Very well..." Starscream chuckled and slid a finger into the shuttle, drawing out an amorous "_Aoohh..._!" from his victim. He was delighted to find that the port was _very _responsive to the intrusion, the smooth inner-walling becoming slicker as it was forced to produce more lubricant. It did not help that the valve, long since being revealed in such a way to another mech, was accepting Starscream's entry much too eagerly for his usual dignity...and then, Skyfire could not care less how embarrassingly desperate to have his valve fingered so when Starscream started a slow, steady thrusting. Abandoning all sense of shame, Skyfire struggled to sink the finger deeper into himself, feeling his valve clamped on the cylindrical intruder and causing himself to moan even louder. Starscream's vents hitched involuntarily at the wall that squeezed around his single digit – it was not as tight as most virgin cavities, but it certainly had its own attraction. It made the Seeker all the greedier for the shuttle's submission, and even as Skyfire concentrated on the sensation of being filled, Starscream shove another finger in without warning. Another moan echoed in the brig, one which was more pleasure than pain. Skyfire's servos struggled to grip at the berth in an attempt to retain some of his self-control, succeeding only losing more of it as the discomfort gradually subsided. Movements return into his valve and the Autobot found it impossible to stop himself from rocking his aft along, wanting Starscream to go deeper.

"That's it, Skyfire..." Starscream whispered, laying seductive kisses on said mech's inner thighs which were now covered in clear condensation, "Take it. Take the pleasure when it's offered..."

"Y-yes...Starscream, please...G-give me more...!"

Starscream had no desire to deny the beautiful flyer and added yet another finger to the ones already stuffed into the port. Skyfire repeated his delighted moans without really realizing it, conscious only to the slow slide of the talented digits deep inside him, teasing his intimate wiring with insistent strokes but never reaching deep enough to bring back his overload. Frustrated, the large mech began humping in blind pleasure to the point that Starscream barely needed to pump his fingers anymore, ignoring the small part of his dignity pointing out just how shameful his action was. The Decepticon watched with wild hunger at the sight of his sky-blue fingers disappearing into that wet valve, only to reappear again looking even more drenched than before. Well, Skyfire did seem to be asking for it...

Starscream pulled back his hand, dragging the fingers along until only the very ends remained inside– then drove in all _five_ of them into the expectant valve.

"_Aaah!_ Starscream, stop! _Stop!_" Skyfire was shouting with abandon as pain wracked his port and spread throughout his circuitries. His voice was no longer thick with wanton – he was in terrible discomfort, Starscream's whole servo was too much stretching that his interface cavity could handle after a long while being deprived from carnal activities. Skyfire's hips twisted and turned, trying to expel the unwelcomed visitor inside it and the port tightening in denial of its entry. The Seeker held the advantage of mobility, though, and he managed to keep his hand inside through the struggling and avoiding the thrashing of legs at either side. Yet, he somehow managed to keep the fingers relatively unmoving, confident that the shuttle would be able to feel pleasure once he was used to it.

It turned out that Starscream's verdict was true albeit taking quite some time for it – kliks passed before Skyfire's pained growls quietened and his frantic movements subsided. His vents hitched when they drew air but they were somewhat calmer in doing so. Finger-marks were clawed into the berth's surface where the shuttle had been scrabbling but they were only trembling now. Skyfire lifted his helm weakly off the berth in taking a look at the Seeker nestled between his legs; his faceplates were not in grimace anymore but there was worry in his glassy optics. Starscream composed the most reassuring expression that he could manage and petted at the thighs still held open by his chassis.

"Don't worry. I promise you'll enjoy this," he cooed and Skyfire, left with no choice but to trust him, settled back.

Immediately, Skyfire was subjected to the Seeker's aggressive fisting, the servo pushing in further into the port with each thrust and forcing Skyfire to gape his valve as wide as he could. The large flyer was totally helpless to do anything but moaned and writhed in the excruciating pain-pleasure mix caused by the fingers's random scissoring along the way. The delicious stretching continued in seeming infinity, the wall flexing to allow greater access as the servo tunnelled deeper into the soaked canal...until Starscream's fist bumped against the very back of the shuttle's interface passage where the connection socket would be. Right now, it was firmly hidden behind the iris-hatch and would remain so unless Skyfire's systems synched with Starscream's – only then it would open to allow the passage of the Seeker's Sparkling-constructing nanites – but Starscream had no desire for procreation right now. He was more interested in the shuttle's capability to turn him on and started ramming the spot mercilessly, entire arm retreating almost all the way out before plunging his balled servo back in, again and again, giving no respite for the shuttle from the abusive penetration. Skyfire was wailing like mad, his backstrut bending in a beautiful arch, his valve and spike squirting out lubricant that stained his thighs and crotch, trickling down to form small puddles underneath the trembling thighs.

Starscream was messily splattered with Skyfire's essence but he did not give a slag about it – his attention was on the warmth and tightness felt by his servos, on the way his partner reacted so perfectly to his ministrations. His own core temperature climbed steeply along the pace of his action, wings trembling in excitement and red optics brightening as they took in the sensuous scenery. Growls escaped him whenever he heard Skyfire's needy moans, answering the Autobot's vocalizations as if assuring the other that it was alright, what they were doing now. After so long being confined in its housing, Starscream's spike knocked on the cover of his panel insistently, demanding to be seated into Skyfire and be enveloped by the clenching inner-walling. With a snarl, Starscream removed his servo from Skyfire with a wet _pop_ but continued rimming the entrance to keep the Autobot occupied. A soft click sounded and Starscream's panel snapped open, eliciting a sigh upon extending his spike out from its imprisonment, the relatively cool air providing further relief for the overheating interfacing arrays.

The shuttle-former's sensitive audios detected the tell-tale signs of Starscream's readiness and peered over the rise of his own chest-piece; Starscream was grinning the widest that Skyfire ever remembered, stroking his spike into full hardness with one hand while smearing lubricant over Skyfire's entrance with the other. Surprisingly gun-metal coloured despite his red aft, the interface rod was of decent enough size, given to Starscream's sleeker build, twitching and dripping wetness from the dark-grey tip. Its length was nowhere near Skyfire's but it would still be able to claim the shuttle entirely – and if the Seeker had his way, his partner would be in for a good, hard, screaming-worthy interface. Starscream patted the valve one last time as if in farewell before servo-guiding his spike to take his digit's place – the chord seemed to snarl in readiness as it hovered just above the valve, steady drips of energon trickling out from the lubrication pore which was obediently swallowed by the wide-opened hole. Holding onto the shuttle's hips to steady himself, Starscream rubbed his cable's hub against the glistening entrance, rolling it around and covering the tip in their combined wetness. The reaction from Skyfire was encouraging for he moaned long under the teasing pressure, the rim pulsing excitedly whenever it was poked. When the spike was pressed against the valve, Skyfire's aft began rocking vigorously – too vigorously, in fact, that Starscream found it difficult to make an entry. In normal circumstances, Starscream would have been angry at the delay but he was dealing with a shy, reclusive shuttle-former – and the fact that he had managed to reduce Skyfire so lowly fuelled his amusement.

"Impatient now, aren't we?" Starscream sneered and pushed one of Skyfire's legs to the side, giving him more room for movements later. "Don't you worry – You're mine, after all. Only _mine!_"

A groan rumbled out from the Autobot's vocalizer. To the Seeker's surprise, Skyfire's voice had taken a new note, one that unsettled him rather than roused. The hips continued the movements which made it impossible to aim at the valve – and suddenly, he realised that Skyfire was not at all trying to bury the spike into himself; rather, he was doing the opposite, struggling to get out of Starscream's penetrating range. A relentless litany escaped Skyfire's vocalizer, almost unintelligible in his taxing efforts, but the last word, only half-audible in the clanging of metals from his writhing, reached Starscream's audios.

" –chet...!"

"Skyfire, what is wrong with you?!" Starscream's shout was filled with confusion that he hated to make apparent but the shuttle's new behaviours were beyond his understanding. He released his grip on his spike and wrapped his arms as best as he could round the shuttle's girth, trying to keep him down and finding the feat ever more difficult.

"Stop it! We can't do this! Release me!"

"Slag it, Skyfire! Of course we –"

"I-SAID-STOP-IT!"

Skyfire was screaming by now, driven by a motivation that only he could understand. Whatever it was, though, it lent him enough strength and will to finally push himself up, the sudden rise sending Starscream sliding to the floor and landing upon it with a loud _clang_. The shuttle rolled off the berth, his intakes huffing and spluttering, and managed just barely to stand on his pedes albeit with a slightly bowed stance. The Seeker was absolutely astonished that Skyfire, even after all the pent-up overloads, was still able to put up resistance at all, let alone denying interface completely. His spike was still erect, dripping even, and copious amount of purplish fluid was leaking out from the port and staining the floor underneath. Still Skyfire stood, unmoving and looking terrified all the while.

"I...I'm sorry, Starscream. I just...I just can't." There was unexplained horror in Skyfire's voice when he said these. The blue optics were flickering in alternating shame and passion, fear and desire, but he made no move to approach the Seeker, now slouching pathetically on the floor before the shuttle, his wings visibly drooping at his either side. Now, it was Starscream's turn to feel the embarrassment of being exposed with his interface panel wet and wide open. His servos unconsciously went to his crotch to cover the interfacing arrays all the while he maintained optical contact with the shuttle.

"I'm sorry..." the Autobot repeated and turned away. His servos sought support from the wall, staggering towards the momentarily deactivated entrance. His steps echoed for a while after his form vanished behind the exit, and never once, not even for an astrosecond, did he glanced back.

Starscream was still gazing after the shuttle's retreating back long after he was gone, hoping that he would turn around and return. He did not reappear, and Starscream did not realize that his spike was still stiff in anticipation.

_**xxxxx**_

It was a torture unlike anything that Skyfire had ever experienced; electric charges worth of two, maybe three overloads were skittering across his overheating circuitries. He possessed as much motor control as an over-energized mech – his steps were groggy, often leading him into the hallways' wall and smacking his chassis against it. He could hear the buzzing from his unsatisfied systems as if being surrounded by bees, cooling fans kicking at the highest possible gear and were still helpless to help Skyfire achieving relief. Visions that were seen through his optics were disjointed and static-filled with his CPU unable to function properly. However, the worst thing about his current situation was the fact that his interface panel was unable to be closed with his interfacing components still fully activated – attempting it would result in massive discomfort when the energon lubricant collected in it and the spike would need to be depressurized before it could be tucked back into its slot. With a cry, Skyfire fell to his knee-struts right there in the corridor – he was weak and in desperation for overload, and the one with the capability and willingness to do so had been left behind in the prison back there. But he couldn't...not with Starscream. It was not his right anymore, but he needed release. And he needed it _now_. His chassis shuddered with the held-back desires, taking every ounce of patience he had to not grab his spike or finger his port right there and then. There was no one in the place but it was going too far for the shy scientist to do it in such a public place – he would have to find somewhere private and near.

"Primus..."he mumbled as electrostatic charges ran through his systems in waves, pushing him further and further into impatience. Where could he go? The washrack was private enough, but it was too far away and so was his living quarters. His optics flickered rapidly, threatening to fail under the overwhelming charges when he scanned his surroundings, looking for...there! It was a door only five or so steps to reach it from where he was kneeling. It was a miracle that Skyfire was able to stand up again and made his shaky way towards the door – opening it took multiple attempts before his digit was aimed directly to punch the access button. It opened with a hiss and creaky sounds signifying lack of use, revealing an orange-painted interior that was gloomier than the rest of the Ark. Old equipment, most being broken, lined the far end of it. Belatedly, with his CPU unable to process much except the alarms of overheating circuitries, Skyfire realized that it was an old storage room, abandoned in favour of the newer one that was constructed near Wheeljack's workshop. This place, despite being dusty, would have to do. The shuttle pressed the closing button with the same difficulty as when he opened it and slumped down to the floor, his legs being unable to keep himself upright anymore. His air cycling was shallow with excitement as he spread his legs upon feeling the hard pressure of his spike pressing into his thigh-plating, his servos subconsciously drifting into gaps in his armours to stroke whatever wires that were within reach. The lower chassis was dirty from his lubrication – it was embarrassing that the sight was rather arousing, but it was true nevertheless. He scooted back until he was leaning against a wall and tilted his helm back, trying to relax himself. Unsteady digits reached up to massage the neck-cabling, stroking the main fuel line and tugging gently at the other minor ones. The pleasure that resulted was enough to partially banish the nervousness that gripped his processors, but far from sufficient to give him his release. The cable stood erect on his crotch-plate, demanding for his attention; he could feel the outflow of lubricant from his valve, begging to be filled. Skyfire was unable to deny his own desires and let his servos wander slowly southwards, cheek-plating heating up steadily as they neared their destinations. It was distractively shameful when he realized that he was about to touch himself – he had done this only rarely before, and only when there was no escape. He was still uncomfortable to do it now despite requiring the overloads that resulted from it.

Pushing back his distaste, Skyfire shut off his optics and let imaginations ran wild as he began a slow pumping on his cable. Two digits circled his valve before slowly pushing in to give chance for the rim to stretch, softly moaning under his air circulation...Starscream's faceplates, feral with desire, danced before his optics... he travelled deeper, stroking his spike with increasing speed, the hip canting upwards, envisioning himself straining towards Starscream's expert touches...the Seeker's grin softened and his faceplates took on lighter complexion; the helm molded itself to become more curved...Skyfire moaned harder, his tone needier as he pumped and shove with new vigour...the imaginary mech that touched him was not quite Starscream anymore; the optics that stared at him did so with gentle longing, glowing with the blue of the sky; black chevron grew from the helm-plating on his hood...

Skyfire's chassis bowed right off the wall he leaned against, vocalizer noisy with shouts of ecstasy as multicoloured sparks exploded before his still-offline optics. Electricity danced and crackled along his frame, and with the loudest cry yet, an intense overload hit him hard and swift, completely throwing his functions into forced recharge, a secret name frozen on his lip-components before he could utter it.


	17. Chapter 17

"Oh, no..."

Prowl heard the soft whisper from behind him and turned to look at a nervous Red Alert flitting between Teletraan-I's terminals. The Security Director always looked panicky but there was an exceptional anxiety to the Lamborghini when he pressed the various keys before him that compelled Prowl to approach him. The electro-glitch haloing the helm-horns grew steadily brighter and more intense with each passing nanoklik.

"Red Alert, report," the Datsun commanded with an air of superiority and knowing all the while that it was his right to use the tone. The Security Director did not stop his frantic movements, but he answered nevertheless:

"There's something wrong with Teletraan-I ! The systems are unacceptably sluggish and there was a massive drop in the energy level –"

All the lights in The Ark flickered, faded, and then came to life dimmer than usual an astrosecond later. A rarely-heard hum from the backup power supply echoed in the walls of the Autobot headquarter and Prowl noticed that only a handful of machineries were working. The screens of Teletraan-I were all dark, except for one nearby, and even that the display flickered every now and then. Three red-lettered words glowed in the lack of lighting, looking all the more sinister because of it.

_Warning: System failure._

Prowl's doorwings tightened when he read them; Red Alert was close to whimpering but he kept his efficiency intact as much as he could, keying in further requests for analysis report. In the Command Deck, his helm-horns provided the most illumination compared to the other failing lights with the Ark trying to conserve as much energy as it could – the power supply could only last for a few months with sparing use, but there was something sinister in the current happenings that put the Autobots on edge. It was impossible for the Ark to fail so entirely with all the maintenances they gave it. Distant sounds of chaos echoed into their audios, the occupants of the Ark being undoubtedly shocked by the sudden change in their environment, unhelpfully adding to their uneasiness. A chirp from the only working monitor alerted them to the submitted report on the analysis it had ran through.

"Red Alert?"

"We have bad news. Teletraan-I systems are 80% shut off. The Security and communication are completely down!"

Before Prowl could respond, his internal communication systems alerted him of an incoming signal coming from a friendly source; despite the Ark's major system failure, the individual bots' communication channels were separate from Teletraan-I and so, were thankfully functional. Further inspection verified it to be coming from Cliffjumper, who happened to be the perimeter scout of the orn, along with Trailbreaker. Putting the conversation on loudspeaker so that Red Alert would be able to hear, he opened his channel.

::Prowl here. Report, Cliffjumper.::

::The 'Cons, sirs. They are coming! Trailbreaker and me are making a run for it – we're about...ten miles away from the Ark.::

Red Alert's vents audibly hitched in nervousness but Prowl managed to hide his rising worry behind his calm expression. It would not do to show discouraging emotions – this lesson he had learnt well from Optimus Prime himself.

::How many?::

::Six, maybe seven...we're not sure. We are forced to leave our station when they attacked us. Megatron leads them.::

_How very convenient; we are out of power just as the Decepticons make the move AND when the bulk of our force is away_, Prowl thought gravely. The signs that screamed the connections between the three events were impossible to be overlooked. A sighing venting of air served to steady himself in the face of the incoming predicament before he replied:

::You have done well. Return to the base immediately. We will take the appropriate measures about it. Prowl out.::

He found Red Alert staring at him when he severed his communication link, disbelief prominent on his faceplates that the Second could sound and act so calm under the stresses. It was not that Prowl did not feel so – he did not openly show it because a panicking superior would only infect the others. He maintained the calm tone when he said, "Red Alert, see if you can get us online – Have Chip Chase and Wheeljack to aid you. Contact Prime and inform him of our situation when you can. I have a defence team to organize."

Red Alert nodded and turned his back towards the Datsun and focused on the various control panels on Teletraan-I's console, intending to fix whatever it was that went glitchy in its systems. Prowl gave him credits for not going into complete haywire despite the crackling helm-horns that indicated the level of tension he was experiencing. He lingered on the notion even as he opened the public comm. link that reached all of the Autobots in the Ark, waiting for them to open their side of communication before announcing:

::This is Prowl speaking to the Autobots. All hands on deck immediately. I repeat, ALL hands on deck. Further information will be relayed during the emergency meeting. Prowl out.::

The Datsun cut off the link with a sense of foreboding circulating in his systems; he had not felt like this for a while now. Then again, they had not been faced with such massive threats in an equally long time. It would take all of military strategies he knew to keep the Autobot base from falling into the Decepticon's servos – that, and lots and lots of luck. They would sorely need it when the attack began. In such situations, Prowl could only hope that things would not get worse than this or they would stand little chance of surviving.

"Please don't let us fall," Prowl muttered, allowing his worry showed for once – this one time – just before his comrades arrive.

_**XxXxXxXxxx**_

Megatron let out an angry curse as he glared after his fleeing preys, his optics managing to keep track of the two vehicles speeding away from the scene even in the desert's thick darkness. His Fusion Cannon smoked, the charges that contributed to its glowing barrel suffusing into the surroundings. Those two Autobot scouts would have been mere cinders by now had he had not been distracted by the pulsing sensation that knocked the inside of his cranial plating just when he was about to release the killing blast, deviating his aim and inevitably sparing his enemies. Pit, wasn't it enough that the memory drive wrecked his orderly cycle? Now, it was reducing his menace as well! That added one more reason for the warlord to despise the very device he had ordered to be implanted inside him, the same dislike which had led him to promise never to tap into the unholy connection again...

...and yet, the surges of emotions that leaked through the uncompleted link bothered him. He had long realized that he was losing more and more control over the memory drive, which had rather frequently fired small bursts of mental insights of Starscream. No matter how much Megatron wanted to deny it though, a small part of him was lured to delve into the meta-processors of the Seeker again, longing the proximity, wanting to understand...and at times, he nearly succumbed to the desires before his iron own will reasserted control on his physical self. This newest throbs however, held a different feel to it, almost as if Starscream was..._excited? _But it couldn't be – Starscream was confined in the base of the enemy, there was no reason for such positive feelings, no room for the supposedly excited sensation that had hit Megatron's systems...

Or were there?

He discarded the line of thought upon realizing how distractively dangerous it could be when he was at the brink of a battle, especially so with the latest unwanted development; that the Autobots had escaped deactivation meant that their comrades at the Ark would be alerted._ So much for secrecy_, he snorted. Soundwave had dutifully deployed Laserbeak as had been ordered, but even Megatron knew the futility of such action; two against one, with one of the two possessing an ability to generate force field and the other being a respected shooter. So it was that he ordered for the Casetticon's retreat when it had chased them for over a few megamiles, of which it eagerly obeyed, returning into the chest cavity of its master until its aid would be needed again.

"We can't rely on element of surprises now," the gun-former said though the tone he used indicated more of a monologue than an announcement to his underlings. He had been hoping to strike the Pit-damned Autobuts when they were confused from the Ark's systems failure.

_The Ark's systems failure_. The words reverberated in his helm as if some sort of hopeful prays. His plan had been depending heavily on that – too heavily for his liking, in fact, who was a sort of mech who did not like to put all expectations in one container. Prime's absence helped too, but the Autobot's base had been identified to be possessing rather sophisticated perimeter defensive turrets, hidden away in the underground and would only be revealed when the security line had been breached by Decepticon energy signatures. These impressive arsenals had been added after a few security breaches made by the Decepticons and even the warlord himself had to admit, being a Transformer with high taste in armaments, that the Autobots made a good choice in that. Barging in through the front door would be suicide because of the effectiveness of the guns; when they had been deactivated, however, the Ark was pretty defenceless.

That reminded him; the Ark was so much vulnerable only as long as the spy-nanobot did its work. Against a supercomputer, even a powerful virus that the small creepy-crawler was pumping into Teletraan-I could last only a few joors at most. And what if the nanobot had been detected?

"Decepticons, mobilize!" Megatron roared, taking to the sky in one swift leap, the others quickly following behind.

While Megatron focused his thoughts on the upcoming fight, Thundercracker and Skywarp, now flying in their alt-modes, shared similar concern about the strange sensations that had travelled from Starscream's mentality through the shared Trine link. It was brief, lasting for only a few kliks, maybe five, before dying down to nothingness but the fact that it was intense enough to register to his Trinemates bothered the two Seekers. It wasn't worry of Starscream's well-being for sure, but rather of what folly their Trineleader was attempting; the feelings that they perceived was one of _delight_, an impossible enough sensation given his current circumstances. Rough pictures that they have imparted to him about this rescue _could_ have been the source unless they counted the fact that it spiked suddenly, as if being triggered by a spontaneous, unexpected event.

::TC?:: Skywarp's unspoken voice knocked on Thundercracker's Trine comm. link, anxious and edgy.

::Yes, 'Warp?::

::I have a _baad_ feeling about this.::

Skywarp's open honesty drove Thundercracker's own hectic mental state into further disorder; the purple-black jet-former was rarely revealing about his feelings if not depressed.

::Gotta any idea what's happening to Screamer?:: Skywarp's demand was useless with the anonymity of their knowledge, a fact that was also realized by the questioner himself, but the words were too eager to escape in Skywarp's current agitation.

::I don't know, Skywarp.:: Thundercracker surrendered to his lack of information.

Absent-mindedly, he stared at the horizontal form of his leader as they flew through the night, making a bee-line towards the Ark. Remembering Megatron's hinted ability at filtering Starscream's CPU, he wondered what was running through the gun-former's processors right now. Did he perceive that out-of-place joy? Did he know the source of it? Thundercracker, limited to the confinement of his cranial plating, could only guess although honestly, if asked of his personal opinion, Megatron might as well tell them whether Starscream was sitting or standing, even the colour of his seat if the former was the case.

"Thundercracker!"

The lash of Megatron's voice shocked Thundercracker out of his processors-drift; Skywarp's comm. link went silent in response to their leader's call, not in the least desiring to compete with the silver mech for Thundercracker's attention. As quickly as he could collect himself, the white-blue jet-former responded, "Lord Megatron?"

"You know what to do."

Redirecting his optical lenses to the area ahead of him, the shadow-darkened outline of the Ark was caught in the recording. Thundercracker did indeed know what to do, he and Skywarp having been briefed about it during the pre-battle meetings. It was still a rather peculiar sensation to be handed the task of an Air Commander even though he had filled the role several times before whenever situation forced him to; the high expectancy for success put so much stress in his CPU that he wondered why it hadn't going through meltdown yet. Not needing further orders, Thundercracker banked left, his movements being immediately mirrored by his Trinemate. Being Seekers in Megatron's army meant that they were the first line of offense, raining down the first wave of worldly Pit upon their enemies – and these were the tasks that they had been assigned to.

Their jet-engines were noisy in the relative stillness of the desert's night, especially Thundercracker's, of whom his designation was derived from. This was a fact that could not be helped so they went on, as quickly as their thrusters could propel them, wings slashing through the wind and nosecones piercing streamlined airflow before them. Nearer and nearer they came to the invisible perimeter line; in normal situation, this was where they would turn away for crossing it would earn them deactivation from the Ark's defensive turrets. However, the apparent dimness in the Ark itself solidified Soundwave's previous claim that his spy-nanobot was doing its job and convinced the two Seekers to do what most others would hesitate to. They flew on.

::Skywarp to Thundercracker. Looks like line's clear to me.::

::Don't drop your guard.:: Thundercracker cautioned; as skilled a warrior as Skywarp was, his careless streak was always his downfall. It was a combination of his teleporting ability, his Trinemates' protection and a good deal of luck that had saved the black-and-purple Seeker from deactivation up until now.

::Um...TC, what's that?::

Thundercracker detected the general focus of Skywarp's radar and synchronized his to find out what exactly that the other jet was talking about. It appeared as if a natural rock formation that littered the area, except for the spike in Thundercracker's other perception, verifying the strange signal radiating from it to be of living origin –

::DODGE!::

Just as he finished saying it, a fast projectile was hurtled towards them in a burst of orangey flame; the 'rock' recoiled, the fabric sheet covering it only astroseconds before slid off from it, revealing a minibot hiding underneath it. There was no time for identification, though, as the two Seekers peeled away from each other in getting out of the projectile's – clearly a missile – path. It passed between them harmlessly, detonating only when it had travelled past them, showering the black sky with brilliant explosion.

::Oh, slag!:: Skywarp yelled through their shared Trine link as he pulled from his dive, struggling to avoid yet another explosive rocket being fired in his direction.

Thundercracker was quick to the rescue; entering a tight turn whilst releasing his own heat-seeking missiles, his weapons crashed headlong into the enemy's offensive one, creating even bigger, brighter explosions. He steered clear away from them, relieved that the consequent shockwaves did nothing more than slightly destabilizing his wingmate's flight. His processors, however, was working at the maximum capacity under such stressful conditions; the whole situation was unacceptable! Seemingly inanimate rocks suddenly sprung into offense, firing missiles after missiles, one by one, before retreating out of his perception again. His detection systems was working fine during his last pre-battle inspection, whether Cybertronian or the Earth-originated one, but only the former seemed to be able to give feedbacks now; The Earthling's radar system, incorporated into his being when he acquired this alt-mode, was silent from its warning proximity beeps. The Spark energy signature and their Electromagnetic fields, the energy waves that his Cybertronian scanner picked up, were detectable only at close range if the Autobots manually tempered their strength, such like during battles. This was a disadvantage not only because of the practically blind condition he was in; with his high-speed flight, he could as well fly past an Autobot without ever knowing his presence until he was himself shot.

Desperately trying to avoid another missile directed at him, Thundercracker joined his Trinemate and called for back-up, hoping that it was enough to turn the table before the Command Trinesekers ceased to exist.

_**xxxxx**_

"Are you sure that this idea of yours is a good one?" Red Alert's clipped voice said from the inventor's side, who was currently bent over a stubbornly dark monitor even though Wheeljack had spent the last few kliks tweaking with the wires connected to it.

"Of course," the Lancia's vents huffed in annoyance at the discouraging progress. His optics glowed with curious, focused intensity, a sign for others that he could not be bothered if one wished for a safe demonstration but of which Red Alert could not care less under the already dire situation. "The camouflaging sheets can't hide their Spark energy and EM fields, but they all have some control over its broadcast range to some degree. So yes, disguising themselves as parts of the landscape should work while we figure out what's wrong with Teletraan-I and fix it."

"And this is the system your Earth military primarily relies on for enemy detection?" The Security Director's tone was incredulous; put him in the charge, he would never have employed such easily fooled system! These humans were sure a confusing species.

The Lamborghini's question was directed more specifically to the individual now sitting on a wheelchair parked just beside Wheeljack's left pede. A paraplegic, the brown-haired Chip Chase was nevertheless a valuable asset to the Autobot army with his brilliant mind complementing those of Wheeljack's CPU, assisting the latter when it came to the unfamiliar Earth technologies – just as he had proven it yet again by suggesting the camouflaging sheet to shield the sharp angles of the Autobots from the enemies' searching radars.

Looking almost apologetic, Chip could only shrug and said, "We're improving. It's not like we live for, say, 5000 years to perfect all our technologies and research in one generation."

Red Alert did not say anything but his disapproval of the Earth's comparatively primitive technology seemed to disturb him, especially so when you took into account that the Autobots were supposed to protect these less advanced humans. However, the downed Teletraan-I had the bulk of the Lambo's worry so he returned to his flitting between the supercomputer's terminals, running scans after scans in searching the source of the problem – and from the way his shoulder-struts sagged, it was obvious that failure met him yet again. Chip had learned that it was among the stupidest thing one could do if you attempted to disturb a focused, worried Red Alert, unless you happened to be Optimus Prime or Ironhide, so he pretended ignorance to the Lamborghini's frustration and returned his spectacled eyes to the laptop sitting neatly on his lap.

"Got anything there, Chip?" Wheeljack inquired; his voice and the weak lighting of his head-fins told of his confusion that twinned those of Red Alert's.

"...Well, can't say much, except that this screams VIRUS! to me." Chip had hoped to give more useful information but was unable to; he was dealing with Teletraan-I, at any case, a supercomputer far more advanced than any on Earth. However, being one who prided himself on his computer-related expertise, being foiled in that very field was still unbelievably disappointing.

"Guess so. I wish I know where this all starts – then we can eliminate it from the source!"

"What if the Decepticons download it from somewhere? Like from their ship?"

"That's impossible," Red Alert's clipped tone snapped from where he was standing, a few Cybertronian metres off to their left, "Teletraan-I's security protocols are the latest, most advanced that any of us could have devised! I myself make sure of that!"

Wheeljack flashed his head-fins in what Chip had known to be amusement before they re-coordinated themselves to their owner's vocal pattern, "Red's right. There's no way for anyone to hack into our database remotely, unless –"

The Lancia's sentence died suddenly; it did not take much to figure out the cause since his other companions had also realized where Wheeljack was heading to. In the end, it was Chip who finished it for both of them, "– unless we've been _physically_ infiltrated! If they can't sabotage us from the outside, then there MUST be someone right in here doing the dirty works!"

Red Alert's horns started to crackled and glowed with his nervousness-induced electro-glitch but the owner was still functionally stable, something that the other two were extremely grateful for; bad enough that their leader was away, the Autobot army did not need their Security Director to gone haywire too. In fact, it was rather staggering that the Lamborghini's faceplates were more serious than panicky when he said, "We must find whoever – whatever – that has done this! If we can't get the defensive turrets online..." He did not finish the rest of his sentence; thinking about it was horrifying enough without it being said out loud.

"Right. And since Teletraan-I hasn't been giving out alerts, chances are that our culprit must be tiny," Wheeljack concluded enthusiastically now that they had a little lead in their efforts, "Anything smaller than Chip's palm can easily slip past our detection."

"Wait, there're Transformers being that size? I thought you guys are all big," the human asked; honestly, he had been so used to the robots' towering figures – even the minibots were still higher than the average humans – that to envision them small-scaled was shocking.

"More likely it being a mindless drone rather than a Transformer – and it doesn't have to necessarily look humanoid." Wheeljack explained, pressing a few more buttons on the control panel. The inventor's vents cycled a sighing air outtake when the action seemed to achieve nothing observable, "That's it. I can't do anything more. Our only chance is to find that drone and put it out of business for good."

Nodding, Chip Chase rolled his wheelchair in opposite direction to Wheeljack's heading, claiming a spot to search for where neither of the Transformers had; off to one side, his red helm-horns steadily building up electrostatic charges, Red Alert stood as silent as a sentinel, maximizing his sensory perceptions in the hope to detect an oddity in the place; Wheeljack had his back turned towards the Lamborghini and was using the old-fashion way, optics and servos wandering around the Command Deck for the elusive drone that had caused them so much trouble.

Meanwhile, the word-exchanging between the Autobots and their human ally had not gone unnoticed – the spy-nanobot, preoccupied as it was with maintaining the viral activity in Teletraan-I, had not left its sensors dormant – and it was well-aware of the imminence of detection by its enemies. Its non-sentience knew no worry, though, and until the time came, it would continue to serve its master and cripple the Autobots as long as it could.

_**xxxxx**_

The hustles and bustles of his comrades prior to the Decepticon's attacks were not capable to immediately rouse this single Autobot in the Ark to join in the fight; the oblivion of recharge was so deep after Skyfire's systems succumbed to the deprivation that his carnal activities produced. In any Cybertronian, it was an expected reaction – interfacing was always a taxing effort despite the pleasure it induced, even more so when accumulating the charges in several dissatisfaction before releasing them all in one big burst of overload – and the aftermath could be just as exhaustive. However, while other Transformers were expected to still remain in recharge, Skyfire's vents were already increasing its rotational rate, preparing the shuttle for the approaching activation. Part of his astonishing recovery rate was due to the upgrades he had installed so long ago, stressing his self-repair protocols due to the hazardous nature of his career as an explorer. That same advantage was working in him now, pushing his meta-processors closer and closer to consciousness, inviting reality to capture him again in its hold.

As it was with the Skyfire's personality, his waking-up was gradual, calm, controlled. The first to online were his audio receptors before his other sensors followed suit. In his recharge-induced sluggishness, his CPU took a few astroseconds later than usual to realize that the room was not as well-lit as it was before he metaphysically left it. A slow, irregular humming that he had never heard of coming from the Ark but of which he recognized nonetheless filled his audios; the back-up power supply had been turned on, that was for certain. But why? A dark, foreboding feeling dawned on the shuttle's processors as simulations after simulations were replayed before his optics. The stiffness in his joints discouraged movements but it was not the main factor that had dissuaded him from standing up. Rather, it was the unexpected tingles in his port that sent him jolting down to the floor, a little uncharacteristic mewl jumping from his lip-components.

_Oh, Primus...How could I have forgotten?_ He thought, not with a little embarrassment, when he realized that the digits he had used to pleasure himself were still nestled in the tightness of his port. Looking down at his lower plating resulted in even hotter faceplates, seeing the evidence of his activity; the whole interfacing panel was still bared, revealing a small circular hole in which his depressurized spike had retreated into and of course, the wet valve with two of his fingers still plugged within it. Blotches of silvery transfluid, ejaculated upon his overload and intermingled with the purple of his lubricant, had dried out in the time Skyfire had taken to recharge; it smeared a good portion of his hip-plates, completely covering his crotch and staining his thighs most heavily on the inner side. Somehow, seeing it without lust clouding his processors was even more disturbing that Skyfire averted his gaze away from his groin while pulling the fingers out, cringing slightly as they inevitably scraped his internals, the discomfort growing as he felt the rush of lubricant coming out from his interface canal. That alone had made the shuttle shameful of himself – that he had lowered himself enough to...masturbate...but the sad little thing about it was that he had gotten off on the thought of _Ratchet_.

Ratchet, of all mechs! If it wasn't for the fact that both of his servos were unavailable due to them being dirty from his essence, he would have cupped his faceplates in them, so embarrassed he was. In some way, it was a violation of trust he had forged between himself and the ambulance-former, even though no words had been spoken about it and Ratchet himself was unaware that he acknowledged his secret admiration. It was still too degrading! Skyfire groaned uncomfortably from the dirtiness of both his physiques and his CPU; he could erase the memory files associated with it...but he did not want to. No matter how sinful, the pleasure, the sweet oblivion of it, was far too alluring to be let go, and yet keeping them stored was corroding him from the inside. The warring desires being too much after a few kliks of contemplating it, Skyfire decided that it was better to tend to the simpler aspect of himself – his chassis still needed cleaning and that was much easier to be dealt with. However, making the trip to the washrack was out of the question while transfluid and lubricant were still visible on his frame. He would have to make do with what was available in here.

When Skyfire coaxed out his limp spike from its housing, it took a great deal of self-restraint to not look away OR remembering how he had envisioned Ratchet's wonderful servos grasping at it – doing either of them would make cleaning harder than it was. A bottle of solvent, which he had always brought in his subspace, just in case, was produced along with a handy rag – the sweet scent of it would override those of his fluid, and it would sufficiently sanitize him before he could do with proper washing. In some ways, it was a good thing that the shuttle's embarrassment still lingered because contact between his member and the solvent-soaked rag, cool and soothing as it was, was in no way arousing. His spike took only a little time to be tended, but his port needed extra attention to get as deep as he dared without resulting in unwanted response – be it pain from the lack of natural lubrication, or pleasure if he accidentally brushed against one of those extra-sensitive nodes. Finished with his interfacing arrays, he used the untainted part of the cloth to clean the rest of his chassis, rubbing at the dried fluid until no trace could be found and the metals shone again as if newly buffed. He was already retracting the panel covering his intimate circuitries when the single lamp in the storage room flickered weakly before its light died out – right before a sound of explosion, though muffled by the walls of the Ark, reached the flyer's audios.

"What's going on?" He wondered, worry for what would have caused it instantly blocking off all else, including Ratchet, or Starscream, or his shameful masturbation from his processors. Come to think of it, it was strange that he did not hear any familiar voice in proximity, no matter how faint, as if the Ark's residents had abandoned the spaceship altogether.

His intakes doing a sigh-like cycle, Skyfire stowed the solvent and the now-dirty rag back into his subspace and got to his pedes.

_**xxxxx**_

For the rest of the Autobots – namely, the Autobots that were scattered throughout the perimeter of the Ark – the situations had gone from bad to worse. The two Decepticon Seekers, Thundercracker and Skywarp, were not much of a trouble when robbed of their radar-detection abilities. That concealed the Autobots' locations well from their weaponries but things were a lot different when you add Soundwave and his Casetticons into the equation. First off, there was Rumble and Frenzy. The miniature mechs were impressive enough in that they possessed physical strength that equalled those of average Cybertronians, but couple that with their transformable arms, the Autobots found themselves in a very bad situation indeed.

It was Bluestreak who first noticed the turns in the tides. It was during a particularly bold attempt from Skywarp to penetrate their defense despite not being able to his shooters, when the young gunner, who was still concealed under the covering sheet, aimed his shoulder launchers at the reckless jet that the ground shuddered underneath his pedes. The term '_Earthquake_' (Actually, more like, '_Oh no, earthquake! We gotta get outta here before the whole thing crumbles down on us but there are 'Cons around here slag where can we go now?'_) was what occurred to his CPU first before the thought was emended by the sight of easily identifiable purple and red Casetticons not far off from his place, their mouths uttering gleeful laughs and their piledrivers-transformed arms pounding mercilessly into the ground. Of course, by the nanoklik he spotted them, he was already unstable on his pedes for the Earth no longer provided a stable foothold, making Bluestreak tumbled around as if being over-energized from too much energon.

"Oh slag!" The young Datsun cried out when he fell on his aft, the camouflaging sheet slipping off his chassis like liquid. Instantly, all that sharp angles and straight lines of his form, in disharmony of his rounder, more curved surroundings, betrayed his position to his enemies; Thundercracker took the opportunity to avenge his wingmate, who by now had suffered singed armours here and there, and swooped in on the helpless mech. The ground where Bluestreak was only astroseconds ago exploded in a cloud of dust and debris as the white-blue jet's missiles hit the spot, missing the Autobot only because of the gunner's fast-processing CPU urging the lithe chassis to get up and away from the Decepticon's line of fire. There was a shout somewhere but he was not sure from who – or even what, since he was still too busy saving his aft from the jet's rounds of rapid-firing machine-guns.

"Oh no, you DON'T!"

His visual feedbacks were useless at giving information, with Bluestreak running exactly away from the voice's source, but the recognizable rumble in the tone provided identity as to who was speaking: Brawn. There were _bangs_ and _booms _accompanying the minibot's last shout, and an enraged howl confirmed that at least one of his shots had hit its mark. A blue-white jet thundered past overhead, its roaring engine sent faint tremors coursing through the ground that the gunner felt rattling under his pedes. A noticeable blackened hole, still fresh and smoking, marked Thundercracker's underside as he flew away, likely a token given by the hardy minibot himself. Two more laser shots were successively fired afterwards, only this time, they were angled slightly away from the fleeing jet. As a matter of fact, they were not even purposed to hit Thundercracker; Brawn was aiming for the two pile-driving nuisances, and his shots, both of them, were true. Frenzy and Rumble ended up screaming as they stumbled backwards, their armours now sporting fresh scorch marks on the arm-strut and the upper portion of the torso-plating, respectively. The tortured Earth gave up its last shudder and went rigid once more, enough so that Bluestreak could caught himself before falling faceplates-first into the collection of stones before him.

Turning around, grinning an appreciative smile in Brawn's direction, Bluestreak gave a thumbs-up and yelled, "Thanks, Brawn! Nice hit!"

"Spoke too soon, Blue!"

Brawn's optics held no fear, but there was surprise in them nevertheless; his fore-digit was pointing past the Datsun, somewhere up in the sky, where Bluestreak's optics followed quickly to see what the other Autobot meant earlier. Hardly an astrosecond later, his lower jaw fell upon in an unspoken _uh-oh_, the responsive doorwings reacted in tandem with a drastic raise associated with advanced nervousness.

There he was, the Decepticon Supreme Commander himself.

Bluestreak swallowed down an imaginary bolus forming in his main fuel line as if it was real. Antigravs kept Megatron hovering above all the ground-bound Autobots like some vast, predatory bird, optics blazing with the Pitfire of wrath and vengeance, seeking for a suitable target of which his Fusion Cannon could unleash its pent-up charges upon. Fanning around him like angels of death, the other Decepticons were also taking aims at whoever that caught their attentions. The Earth were soon pockmarked with blasts from missiles and lasers, sending the Autobots into scattering. Thundercracker and Skywarp, now joined by their Coneheads counterparts, flew overhead to rain even more chaos on their confused enemies.

"If only we have Swoop or Powerglide with us..."Brawn muttered as he and Bluestreak sought cover behind one of the many rock formations that littered the desert. While it would shatter easily under Cybertronian weaponries, at least they would not be receiving direct hits if they happened to be noticed by the bloodlusty Decepticons.

"Yeah, but too bad Swoop is with the other Dinobots and Prowl had told us that we can't reach them because our communication is down, and on top of that Powerglide –"

"_Bluestreak_," the minibot cut in before the Datsun could go on (which could take up to a breem if not stopped), "I know. I was just saying."

Bluestreak looked very much in favour of replying to it when further conversations were stopped by a peculiar sight of a flying car – or rather, it would have looked peculiar in normal circumstances. These Autobots, however, recognized the blue Corvette with flame decal on its long hood, wings sprouting from its underside as soon as it achieved the velocity to take off.

Tracks.

Of course. The Autobot equivalent of a detective was not a natural flyer, but under current situations, Track's flight capability would have to do in replacing the absence of the other Autobot flyers – and needless to say, Tracks was quite proficient in this matter. He had spent vorns perfecting his dogfighting skills, knowing all too well that the natural instinct borne in Seekers and other flyers would have to be acquired in his case. Naturally, the rising of Tracks spurred the others to battle, encouraging cheers following his flight while they themselves started to return fire to the Decepticons. The jet-formers climbed higher, luring the Autobot's sole flyer away from his friends where their laser shots could not reach. Tracks was not impressed, though; his special gun spewed forth an aura of pure black, enveloping an unfortunate Thrust thoroughly in its blinding darkness, robbing the jet of its bearing and visual capability. He swerved out of control as panic kicked in, accidentally colliding with an unsuspecting Ramjet, bringing along his Trinemate spiralling like an uncontrolled kite.

"Not so fast, Autodorks!"

Skywarp swooped in as the Autobots celebrated Track's minor victory over the Coneheads; heat-seeking missiles detached themselves from the black wings, making an unwavering trajectory towards the Corvette. Tracks realized the danger but was powerless to stop them; he was a skilled flyer who could slip through gaps so small that there were only a metre to spare, but the desert's airspace was an open-area battlefield. It was speed, not manoeuvrability, who would serve one best in such place, a thing that Tracks lacked in his flying form – one of the missiles missed its target when Tracks pulled up sharply, but the second one, a little behind than its counterpart, managed to follow the Corvette's movements and singed the left wing even though he had tried his hardest to evade it. Track's speaker let out a howl that was soon muffled by the rushing wind, but his fall was watched by all his comrades with horror even though his voice was barely audible. With his one good wing and whatever thrust left of his engine, Tracks made his best to glide down for premature landing – fortunately, his altitude and speed was already low enough to allow for a safe, albeit terribly bouncy landing, that Tracks was still pretty much functional for battles once he was transformed back into his robot mode (not counting his sorrow at damaging his much-loved alt-mode).

The other Decepticons quickly saw an opening right then; as the Autobots were temporarily shocked by the injury inflicted on their best hope of winning, they were distracted enough to make the possibly-fatal mistake of lowering their guard down. Soundwave was the first to take advantage, his laser shot finding Brawn's left-side torso and narrowly missing Bluestreak's servo. The minibot's yell of pain roused the others into alertness, but the damage was already done as their enemies followed the Communication Expert's lead. While they started shooting, Megatron took his own sweet time to search – and found – the perfect victim of his Fusion cannon; he lifted his cannon-arm and aimed, the subsequent blast sending a prominent Autobot stumbling backwards, clutching at the damaged arm-strut which was now exposing cables and severed wires.

"Primus – Prowl!" Bluestreak almost screamed at the sight of the tactician collapsing on his knee-bearings. He was near enough that the ugly injuries were revealed to him with nauseating details, thanks to his precision optics, but too far out to be of any physical help.

Despite the pronounced difference in the personalities between both Datsuns, Prowl was nonetheless regarded highly in the younger's optics ever since he was rescued from the rubbles of the destroyed Praxus by the Autobot SIC. It was natural for hero-worship sort of relationship developed in Bluestreak for the other, the feeling only growing after he himself joined the Autobots to follow in the pedesteps of his saviour. Naturally, imagining one's idol as invulnerable was a natural consequence, a thing which had also happened to Bluestreak, which was why, as he saw Prowl's gritted dentas and his optics flickering uncontrollably as control over them were reduced in favour to preserve his more important functions, he could feel his Spark doing back-flips out of worry for his superior.

Bluestreak's thought processes, as lengthy as it seemed, actually took mere two astroseconds to complete. By the time his shock-induced paralysis vanished, Prowl was struggling back to his pedes, his comrades were already rushing to the older Datsun's aid, and Megatron was no longer gloating over his successful shot when he was too busy dodging lasers from his enemies. He was, however, far from giving up, and supported by his minions, he doubled his efforts; the ever-loyal Soundwave was releasing his Casetticons to create chaos on the ground in addition to the destruction provided by the jets from above (Thrust and Ramjet had also recovered from their short-lasting misery and was enthusiastic for revenge). The combinations of aerial and terrestrial assaults soon put the Autobot force in jeopardy, made even worse by the fact that their commanding officer – Prowl – was not in a very encouraging shape. He did his best to lead, though, even as he was relieved of his burning pain by Inferno's fire-retardant foam which was showered over his melted armours and the circuitries beneath them; Trailbreaker was forming force fields to protect his friends as quickly as he degenerated them in order to form a new one over the more vulnerable Autobots, but his systems could only cope with so much strains that not all Autobots were shielded in time. Cliffjumper and Bumblebee were making their best efforts to shoot at whoever Decepticons that came within range while trying to stay out of the line of fire. Even Brawn and Bluestreak was getting out of their cover, risking their Spark to provide what firepower they could to even the scale.

And still it was not enough.

More Autobots were getting hurt than Decepticons. They held the advantage of air-to-ground assaults, which proved to be devastating to the flightless Autobots, especially so in an open space like this desert area. As resistance put up by the valiant fighters became decreasingly daunting – more because of the inhibitive damages they sustained rather than out of dispiritedness – they could almost feel victory slipping further and further away from their grasp. Oh sure, the Autobots could hold their ground against land-based attacks but those coming from above were much harder to deal with, the difficulty being doubled by the fact that the offenders are jets capable of swooping in and getting out of the place in less than 5 nanokliks. Like Brawn had pointed before, if only an Autobot flyer was present, things would not have been so bleak-looking for them. Tracks was out of the question, that's for certain – he could shoot and dodge and wrestle, but definitely no flying until his wings were repaired. If only there was someone, anyone at all, to teach those Decepticon jets some lessons...

"Hey, look! He's coming!"

Bluestreak was puzzled at first by Cliffjumper's sudden exclamation, wondering what the Pit was he talking about. Then, a high-pitched whine, distant-sounding but getting progressively louder by the astroseconds, stopped his wondering. Following the source of the noise, Bluestreak, as well as the other Autobots (and one or two Decepticons not being too trigger-happy to realize the momentary lapse) turned to look towards the Ark, where a bright comet was...shooting up from it?

No, not a comet...but a _shuttle_. A shuttle that rocketed at an angle towards the sky, gaining enough altitude to be seen from a few miles around, thanks to the bright trails of fire the afterburners left behind. The size alone hinted at the identity of the newcomer – the Autobot symbol glimpsed occasionally as it flew towards the battlefield just put the stamp on it.

"Skyfire!" Brawn shouted in what could have passed for joy for the almost-constant grumpy minibot, a designation that sent celebratory yells throughout the whole Autobot army.

The swiftest of all Autobot flyers, Skyfire was innocently forgotten in the heat of the war due to his quiet personality – much like they rarely hoped for Perceptor's presence to give significant aid when it came to brute strength. Understandable, since he rarely showed his faceplates in public other than for refuelling or when something important needed to be attended to. However, as much as he was known as a scientist, he too was the Autobot's official Air Guardian – neutralizing airborne threats was his first and foremost job. And he was going to do just that, thrusters firing, engine whining with suppressed power in suiting it to non-interstellar flight, making a beeline towards the gathering crowds.

Megatron was in the midst of his firing frenzy when he noticed the newcomer – and was less than pleased to see him. In fact, he was downright boiling with rage as memories flooded his data banks – of his humiliating defeat at the servo of this shuttle, at the subsequent betrayal to the Decepticon, at his few but devastating successes in foiling his plan...and the ridiculous dare he had in getting close to his Second. _His_ Starscream! Still, whatever logic that his processors managed to come up with under his wrath, it was enough to hold back the warlord from rushing blindly into battles – while he was not afraid, Megatron was certainly wary about this particular individual, having witnessed and tasted Skyfire's usually unused capabilities.

Megatron's revenge-oriented processors insisted him for one-on-one fight but the stupidity in it did not escape him. He had been defeated before when it came to gladiatorial clash on the ground...doing so in the air, where Skyfire had the full advantage of dogfighting in which Starscream had once warned him of, would spell his demise for sure. Soundwave...no, he was off the limit; not only was he a ground-scheme model, where airborne fights were not his expertise; the communication Expert had more uses at Megatron's side than confronting the shuttle. Setting the jets on Skyfire should do the trick...but then again, the Coneheads were never much reliable when it came to efficiency. Not to mention the other non-flying Autobots that still possessed sufficient threat to be overlooked. It seemed that there were few enough Decepticons that can be spared for the job, except –

"Thundercracker, Skywarp – ATTACK!" Megatron bellowed to the mentioned jet-formers, who had been circling the battlefield and gleefully strafing their disoriented victims. There – the Command Trine Seekers should have the necessary skills to hold back the Autobot flyer, if not outright defeating him. After all, they were trained by Starscream, his best, most able warrior...

Megatron quickly pushed back the slowly-creeping processors-drift when he noticed that predictably, they chose missiles as their first choice of offense, the weapons detaching from their wings and streaking in near straight line towards the incoming shuttle. Skyfire was as unimpressed by their performance as the warlord, it seemed, for he reacted with mere laser shots fired from the front-mounted gunpods, causing the missiles to detonate upon impact. The Decepticon jets parted ways to either side, avoiding head-on collision with the white flyer, and made a wide loop that placed them behind Skyfire, automatically rendering the latter's laser guns ineffective. Undaunted, Skyfire made a sharp dive to escape their in-line targeting systems, momentarily providing him that advantage, before his enemies followed his actions and were back behind him. The Autobot was soon forced to make changes in his movements every now and then, resulting in dance-like manoeuvres across the sky in his effort to stay safe, hounded by the two F-15s without fail at each turn, preventing the shuttle from joining the main battle and providing his comrades an air support.

...Now _that _was one of the reasons why Megatron favoured the Command Trine Seekers over their Conehead counterparts – they were more persistent than the latter. As he looked on, he became vaguely aware of Soundwave who had paused in his shooting spree and instead came to hover at his side, letting his Casetticons did the attacking while he waited patiently to be addressed. Megatron's intakes vented out at the quiet interruption, but since it was the tape-player who did it whom the gun-former knew would not do so unless important, he granted the other his attention.

"Report."

"Simulations indicate that the Autobot frontline will be defeated in roughly 17 breems. Analysis shows that Teletraan-I's systems remain dysfunctional. Orders needed for further cause of actions."

Megatron let his processors mulled over the newest information for a while, digits subconsciously reverted to their old habits of stroking his chin. What he saw somewhat solidified Soundwave's predictions...and in such cases, he readily had the answer.

"I'm not interested in prisoners other than Prime himself."

Soundwave did not need clarification on that order at all, having heard of it time and time again and had learnt by Spark the message not-so-hidden in them.

_Kill them all. _

_**xxxxx**_

Hundreds of miles from Oregon where the Ark was, Optimus and his team were struggling with problems of their own, namely, the Constructicons and the Decepticon Triple-changers. The former proved to be more of troubles than they initially expected, having managed to hold their ground against the Autobots' assaults despite being damaged themselves previously, buying time for Astrotrain to unload his cargo. Though the energy was less volatile now that they were converted to energon, there was still risk of it to meltdown under intense pressure and temperature, hence the care that the train-shuttle former was taking in handling them. The delicacy needed in dealing with them was in no way a boon to the Autobots because a stray laser could send the clusters to explode, damaging both themselves and their enemies – which was the main reason of the major usage of brawn rather than technology as both factions stowed away their weapons to physically grapple with their chosen adversaries.

Well, most of them. While Optimus, Ironhide and the Twins resorted to the old fashion, a few of them, mostly those with tricks up their arm-columns, opted for craftier techniques. In full invisible mode, Mirage positioned himself where his shot was not likely to miss, frequently putting himself dangerously close to his enemies if not for the fact that he was visually undetectable – though sometimes he was still momentarily caught by other tell-tale signs of his presence. Blaster's way was a little more creative, using the full potential of his ultrasonic blasts from his speaker-legs to knock down enemies long before they could reach him. Jazz's sub-woofers had the same effect, though the saboteur's emitted soundwaves were A LOT more audible (currently, his speakers were playing a song that was supposedly sung by an Earth band _Nirvana_) and was shamelessly head-banging to it, much to the bemusement of many others. However, the effectiveness of it made critiques seemed arguable so for those whose vocalizers just itching to yell _would you shut that thing off already?! _kept the protests to themselves.

However, either that they did not attack intensely enough, or that the Decepticons were simply fast-working when under pressure, Astrotrain soon had all the energon cubes out and amassed inside the Space Bridge Ring. While the rest of the gestalts were busy fending off assaults, Hook busied himself with the Ring's control panel, working to repair it to full functionality as soon as possible. By no means that put him completely out of shooting activities altogether – once in a while one or two Autobots would get through the frontline and Hook would be forced to deal with them himself, which made progress even more slow. It was through these many-layered difficulties that eventually, with the last connection of wire to its rightful slot, the crane-former shouted, "It is done!"

It seemed that it was all the catalyst needed to spur the Decepticons into more rigorous defence. If before the Autobots had slowly yet surely making the way towards the hill's centre, they were now pushed with the same crawling slowness as they advanced before towards the ledge. Hook worked on in desperation, aware that the Autobots could still ruin everything that they had worked on – he sent the signal transmission to Cybertron's Darkmount fortress, requesting for initiation of the Space Bridge. It wouldn't be long now, Shockwave would be ready to open the Space Bridge on Cybertron's side, any nanoklik now –

There was a humming sound, followed by a sudden burst of light at the area confined within the Space Bridge Ring...and suddenly, a brilliant shaft of light shot upwards from the Ring, charging the atmosphere with excessive electrostatic charges and causing sparks to crackle in and out of existence around the place. Unnatural wind whipped up suddenly, blowing the leaves out of the nearby trees as the Space Bridge's vortex sucked in the surrounding air, steadily picking up vacuuming force to transport much heavier objects.

Optimus Prime saw all the nitty-gritty details in the event unfolding before his optics even as he battled Scavenger. There was strangeness to it, the way the energon cubes in the Ring shook and rattled, but they did no more than hover a few inches of the ground before dropping back again – concluding to the fledgling vortex being generated by the Ring. Usually, it took almost instantly for the Space Bridge to fully form, the longest taking barely an astrosecond to do so, that hinted the Autobot leader that the lack of energon cubes for initiating the Space Bridge was taking its toll, seeing the massive energy demand required in doing so. While the calculation of the exact time taken to complete it was not what Optimus's CPU was exceptional at, he did realized that it also meant an advantage to his troops, giving them extra time to jeopardize the Decepticons' plan.

The Autobot Commander barrelled his shoulder-struts with as much might as he could muster into Scavenger's abdominal plating, resulting in a pain/furious roar from the Constructicon as he was sent rolling on the ground. Ignoring his enemy's predicament, Optimus transformed quickly once he reached the flat ground of the top, engine rumbling out powerful notes that sent tremors through the ground. The container that was part of Optimus Prime emerged from his subspace and automatically connected itself to the truck-head that formed his main body, granting him extra momentum as he seemingly went on a crazy drive that caused the Constructicons to scatter. Optimus was directing himself at Hook, who was still working to amplify the Space Bridge to transporting strength and getting increasingly worried at it.

"You will not interfere!" Hook shouted, his normally stoic faceplates forming into one of the fiercest expressions one had ever seen him wore. One of his servos were still typing instructions into the control panel; the other was pointing a charged laser gun straight at Optimus, without doubt hoping that it would be enough to stop a rampaging truck.

He was spared the need to guess because Blitzwing chose the moment to give aid, transforming into his other alt-mode as a tank and fired at the Autobot leader. Nevertheless, Hook took no chances and decided to abandon the control panel, knowing all too well that he could be the accidental target of the triple-changer's weaponries in the chaos. The Prime swerved dangerously to the other side that his container almost rolled over from the movement's inertia, quickly disjointing it from the main truck-head that formed his robot body the astroseconds the hinge felt about to give, saving it from uncontrollable tumbling that might have resulted. The separation opened a gap between the trailer and truck-Optimus through which Blitzwing's offensive projectiles passed harmlessly, striking instead an unfortunate Bonecrusher who had been busy wrestling with Ironhide. The triple-changer yelled his frustration at the miss and converted to his flight-capable form, all in the world intending to take another go at the Autobot leader while he was still unstable from all the complex manoeuvrings when Ironhide, having had his adversary taken care of, came to the rescue.

"Ah don't think so, Decepti-scums!" the warrior bellowed; in a surprisingly acrobatic move that belied his hulking form, the red van-former jumped in front of his leader, his servos transformed into the liquid-gun nozzles he was so famous for and were pointing them straight at the airplane. A burst of cold nitrogen liquid burst forth, nearly catching the other on the afterburners if not for his last-astrosecond dodge to the side.

"Thank you, old friend," Optimus said as he changed back into his bipedal form, though he kept the trailer outside instead of stowing it back into the subspace. "Now, let me handle this."

Ironhide probably had guessed what Optimus had in his CPU – it was not frequent that his leader employed this tactic, owing to the vulnerability contained in the very strength it offered, but this battle seemed to be of exception. A quick search revealed to the truck-former of his container's position, now parked somewhere near the Space Bridge Ring, which, in the event of being left uncontrolled, had intensified its meagre pull into only _slightly_ stronger suction, vacuuming only five or six energon cubes at a time – by the numbers of the remaining cubes in the Ring, Optimus estimated that not more than fifty had been transported to Cybertron. A silent command travelled from Optimus to his trailer's control centre, which prompted it to undergo changes as had been told; the roofing folded back to lie against one of the side-walls, which themselves fell down and retracted under the floor-panel, finally exposing itself for what it was: Optimus's minor component, the Combat Deck.

Immediately, the Deck's autonomous programming engaged the enemies using the on-board Auto-Launcher, beaming laser streaks so accurate that none of them hit the fellow Autobots even in the wreckage of war. Optimus's third component, the small scout buggy named Roller, remained to be launched, owing to the nature of the situations that did not require its service, though it did chirped and clicked energetically around the platform. The additional firepower from the Combat Deck proved to be very useful indeed, allowing Optimus Prime to flit between here and there while his minor component took care of whatever Decepticons trying to retake controls over the Space Bridge – and there were many of them, all adamant to get to it, seeing that the Space Bridge was still connected and sending cubes to Cybertron, albeit at a turtlishly slow pace.

"Jazz, Blaster! We have to severe the Bridge's vortex now!" Optimus bellowed while unleashing two blasts from his gun, each of them hitting Astrotrain and Bonecrusher.

Responding to the call of their leader, the saboteur and his comrade raced for the hill's centre to do as was commanded, not missing the opportunity to gun down several Constructicons themselves. While it was of no harm to destroy the physical Ring when the Space Bridge was not activated, doing so when the dimensional loopholes were still in place could do damages to the fabric of reality that could prove disastrous – which was the very reason the Space Bridge Ring was constructed in the first place. Shutting it down manually via the control terminal was the safest way to stop it, and Blaster and Jazz were exceptionally good at this, both having been familiarized with its workings owing to the nature of their position. Immediately, they started working on to bypass the security protocols in order to turn it off – when suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the computer terminal beeped an alarm that informed a sudden drop in the strength of the Space Bridge's energy signature. Physical signs agreed with the statistics, as the crackles of electric charges grew infrequent, and the howling wind gentled down to – not quite breeze, but it was no longer distracting to the fighting Transformers. The light surrounding the length of the Space Bridge faded a little; the energon cubes rattled and shook, but none of them rose more than a metre before dropping back down.

"The Space Bridge is fail-fail-failing!" Mixmaster's exclamation confirmed the hypothesis already formed in Optimus's processors. And it seemed to be the cue for the other Decepticons to abandon attempt at salvation altogether because, almost in unison, the Constructicons anti-graved themselves to the air, while the triple-changers adopted their flight-capable mode and fired their thrusters. Worried that something had gone amiss, the truck-former turned towards the Jazz and Blaster, his hard, anxious gaze was enough to convey the questions to the duo.

"Looks like it's failure on the Cybertronian side, Prime sir!" Blaster shouted over the tumults of noises caused by the departing Decepticons, "There's not enough energy to maintain the connection!"

By now, all of the Decepticons were out the Autobots' attacking range; having perceived the futility to defend the Space Bridge now that it could not work anymore, they had simply decided to bail out, not wanting to get tangled in the violence any more than they absolutely have to. Indeed, even as the Autobot soldiers kept their optics on their enemies, fearing that they might still turn around and continue the fights, the Space Bridge gave one last surge of energy waves to maintain the connection with the Cybertronian end before the lack of energy broke the interdimensional link with a sharp, electrifying sizzles that left excessive charges crackling around the place. Circuits tingled as the electrostatic waves washed over the nearby Autobots, including Blaster, Jazz, Ironhide and Optimus, but it was of no lasting effect. Already the Constructicons and their triple-changer counterparts were at least a megamile away when the surrounding calmed down to as it was before, bringing out victorious cheers from the Autobots when they realized that their enemies would not return anymore.

"An' that's the 'Cons fer yeh',"Ironhide growled in a mix of amusement and disgust, the latter originating from his sentiment to value bravery on battlefields, "Slaggin' cyber-chickens."

"How's the Space Bridge, Jazz?" Optimus demanded; his voice still held the tension born in fights but his stance was much more relaxed now.

"Still workin' – if Shocky on Cybertron gotta enough juices to open another Bridge. If not, well, it's a definite _buh-bye_." By the obvious ease with which the saboteur behaved, Jazz was convinced that another attempt of Space Bridge initiation highly unlikely, following the train of logic that Shockwave had had a guess that the Decepticon force on Earth had been interrupted or a failure-safe signal would be sent to his end, indicating guaranteed security for prolonged attempt at delivery – that is, _if _enough energon cubes had been successfully sent to the other side.

Optimus Prime was thinking roughly the same thing – his optics made a reflexive jump to peer at the content within the Ring, seeing if there was any that left. About ten cubes remained, which would make –

"Statistics record seventy-three energon cubes have been delivered to Cybertron," Blaster reported even before the Prime could voice out the question, noticing where the leader's attention was focused at. It wasn't such a large number, but it would be sufficient to keep the Cybertronian Decepticons up and running for about a quartex– three with rationing – before they would be in need for restocking. In any case, it would not be done immediately; the Constructicons had left the place, and rebuilding another would take reorganization of plan that could consume them for a few orns, not to mention more energy raids that Megatron would have to do.

By this time, all of the Autobots had regrouped on top of the hill; Sideswipe was teasing his twin brother of the huge scratch slashed across his chest-piece, much to the bemusement of the yellow Lamborghini. Mirage sat leaning against a half-shattered rock while Ratchet worked on his damages – cracked armours near the hip-plating – while being accompanied by Hound, who was himself largely unscathed. The tracker was visibly worried at the affected circuitries of the Noble, which had been partly melted by the intense heat of laser despite assurance from Mirage himself. Ratchet remained silent throughout their exchanges, intent to finish his work as quick as possible before checking up on Ironhide, who bore the next worst injury; outwardly, his helm looked merely cracked, but the medic feared that the unseen afflictions were far deeper because of the delicate wiring housed beneath.

Optimus Prime spared the peace with silence of his own, merely observing the states of his soldiers and were thankful that none of them were life-threatening. It was of little regret that some of the cubes had escaped their attempts but it was acceptable, owing to the fact that they had rushed to the scene as quickly as possible. The Space Bridge Ring would need to be disassembled before they left though, to prevent the Decepticons from returning to it and to avoid disastrous consequences, albeit accidental ones, if it happened that some wandering humans chanced upon it – after all, this dimensional-tearing technology was not for the minds of creatures who was still struggling to escape the gravitational pull of their own planet. All in all, it was a tiring but fruitful expedition, and soon enough they would be on their way home again once Ratchet was done with the rudimentary patching-up before more thorough treatments could be conducted in his med-bay.

The Prime's CPU-wanderings were suddenly interrupted by an attempted comm. link from one of theirs that, for some reason, had failed to show up when he had promised to do so:

::Powerglide to Optimus Prime. Come in, Prime.::

Surprised but not exactly disappointed at the late call, the Autobot leader readily responded to the waiting flyer, putting the call on loudspeaker mode to enable the others to hear.

::Optimus Prime to Powerglide. What's the matter?::

" 'bout time that damned flyboy decided ter' call," Ironhide mumbled gruffly while enduring Ratchet's fussy positioning of his chassis as he tried to insert a medical probe (that no one had no idea what it was exactly for) into the widest crack in his helm.

Obviously, Powerglide had caught the van-former's unsatisfied words because, even as he addressed his leader directly, his apology was worded in a way that informed the present Autobots in general.

::Sorry for not earlier, but I'm thinking there's trouble brewing back at home.::

::Please clarify the matter, Powerglide.::

Optimus maintained the steadiness in his voice admirably but goodness knew how his Spark pulsed in its chamber at the information. Others were likewise murmuring their shock and worry but no one was interrupting the flow of conversation, interested in what else the aircraft-former had to say.

::I've been trying to call home base ever since I knew you guys passed the area – just thought I should ask whether I'm needed there or not. Turns out no one's answering.::

::Are you certain about this, Powerglide?::

::Couldn't be surer than this. Not even statics, sir.::

Optimus Prime's instinctive drives were tingling with bad omens; Teletraan-I had yet to fail in answering call-ins even if no one was around in charge – the supercomputer had, after all, possessed nearly as much sentience as the Ark's residents – and Earth's weather was not a hindrance at all for communication, if that had been the case. This was either the universe was playing a terrible joke of unfortunate coincidences, or a villain conspiring to bring about a Pit of troubles to his pedes. His guess was naturally the latter and already the Prime had a suspicion of the culprit's identity.

::Powerglide,:: Optimus began, struggling to hold the nervous-filled tone from breaking into his voice, ::You are to head back to the headquarter immediately. Be prepared to lend the others help whenever they ask for it.::

::Yessir, roger and out!::

The flyer was heard no more; the Autobot leader shifted his attention to his soldiers, each waiting with the same urgency for his command. The same worry that ran through Optimus's CPU was engulfing theirs too – their faceplates showed it all too plainly.

"Blaster, see if we have better luck in establishing contact with the home base," Optimus ordered, though he was not at all eased at the sight of the boom box-former's immediate action in carrying the order out. In an undertone, the leader could not help but mutter, "and pray that this is nothing more than just a random glitch."

The unending silence that met Blaster's communication channel though said otherwise, and caused the Autobots to grew all the more edgier.


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N:** I have too much fun with the Space Bridge...that's all._

_**XxXxXxXxXx**_

"I found it!"

It was Chip Chase's voice, amplified by walls of the Command Deck, that drew the Autobots' attention to the human, now crouched over a section of Teletraan-I's computer console. Once or twice his hand reached up to better the position of his glasses before he returned to peering...whatever it was that caught his attention.

"Any luck, Chip?"

"You bet, Wheeljack," the human said and indicated with his fingers. At first, Wheeljack had no idea what Chip was trying to convey but his counterpart's more sensitive optics saw it easily, even with the room's bad lighting.

"A hole!" Red Alert exclaimed and knelt beside the boy with almost careless disposition that nearly knocked Chip's wheelchair. Chip wheeled himself just in time to prevent it, giving space for the Lamborghini to make his observation. "I think we've found what we're looking for; this burn mark around it is quite fresh, and –...hold on a nanoklik."

There were soft _click_ coming from the SD's faceplates as his optics adjusted themselves to precision viewing and increased the glow so that its light was intense enough to illuminate the inside. Wheeljack and Chip Chase approached the Lambo-former and bent over the hole only slightly bigger than the human's combined palms. They both gasped at what Red Alert's optic-lights were revealing to them.

"By the – it's a Decepticon spy-drone!" The Lancia said, answering Chip's unvoiced question at the same time. "This explains everything!"

"Wait...You mean, this tiny robot is causing us all this troubles? The downed communication, security system – everything?" The boy seemed perplexed at first before his face took an expression oh-I-see-it-now expression, understanding that the Transformers' superior technology had no impossibility to achieve so much in so little a package.

"Yes, and if we don't stop it _right now_, it'll be causing the deactivation of us all in a short while." Red Alert reached a forefinger to the burnt-open hole in intention to slip it inside and pry the spy-nanobot from its perch, only to find out that its girth was a notch too wide to fit through. "Slag it!"

"I can melt the edges a little with my welding tool," Wheeljack offered. In fact, he was already turning around to head to his workshop when Chip verbally stopped him.

"Wait, I think I have an idea. Red Alert, is there any possibility that the drone is armed enough that it can hurt a human?"

"I don't think so. Stealth is its attribute; installing it with weaponries will only decrease its efficiency, and even if it is moderately equipped, all the energy will be diverted to breaching Teletraan-I's defence."

"Then I think I can manually retrieve it. You said it was defenceless, so that leaves only the circuitries' live wires left that can harm me." Chip grinned and produced a pair of yellow gloves from his trousers' pocket, waving them triumphantly at the Autobots. "I've been working with Spike lately, and some of the works need these protective gloves. This should be able to insulate electricity that Teletraan-I generates."

Chip was only waiting for Red Alert's approval to proceed, and needless to say, the paranoid mech was running hundreds of simulations of what could go wrong with the plan in his processors – and discovered that each of them was superseded by the need to get Teletraan-I back online, as it was their only salvation.

"Alright," Red Alert said, his normally-clipped voice contaminated with hoarseness as though to utter the words cost more energy than he used to spending, and it was a sure sign of not-quite-settled agreement, "but if anything happens at the first touch, we will have Wheeljack execute his plan."

Chip winked an assurance from behind his glasses while putting the gloves on; truth to be told, he was rather afraid too, seeing that strength was not one of his prominent attribute. Spike or even Sparkplug would have been more suitable, but they were away at their working place on the oil platforms, far out in the ocean where they could not be reached. Besides, it would be unacceptable if he backed out now when he had offered himself for the task. He rolled his wheelchair closer to the computer terminal, aware that the Autobots' optics were trained on him, inevitably putting burden on his shoulders, burden that he rarely carried in his short human life.

"Well, cross your fingers," he mumbled and dipped his hand into the heat-curved rim of the hole, daring only past his wrist at first before emboldened by the lack of pain at the initial contact. He could hear the collective outrush of air from above him and realized seconds later that they came from the Transformers now crouching behind him, almost as if they were exhaling their held-back breath. If they did breathe.

The Chase boy pushed his arms a little further until he reached his elbows – and that was when his gloved fingers made contact with a differently smooth metal inside. He could feel the tingles of electricity trying to fry his hand, the spy-nanobot having detected unwelcomed contact on its body, but the gloves protected his flesh just like the laws of physics commanded.

"I can feel it," the human announced.

"Can you take hold of it?" Wheeljack asked, flashing head-fins casting soft glow over Chip in the gloomy surrounding.

"I'll try," was Chip's response, and indeed he was struggling to hook his fingers under the spy-nanobot for leverage in his latter pulling, a feat made slightly difficult by the criss-crossing wires of the supercomputer itself and the smooth surface of the intruder. In the end, Chip managed to lodge his fingers behind the egg-joints after some hard prying and tugged. It didn't budge.

"It's too strong!"

"Try again!"

Chip did, mightier this time. Only his wheelchair rolled forward, stopped at last when it bumped against the terminal.

"This one's really a strong fella," Chip admitted, still pulling but with absolutely no progress except increasingly sweaty forehead. He pulled his arms out and wiped the beads forming on his face, expression grim and looking desperate. "Maybe if I can find something to act as leverage..."

"I think I can help you with this one," Wheeljack said and plunged a servo into his subspace, which came out again holding a metal rod as long as Chip's whole arm. Instantly, the human recognized the object, having seen it many times before.

"Datapad? Are you sure?"

"Yep. The metal frame is as strong as Earth's steel – it should do for this job." Wheeljack handed the inactivated datapad – merely a simple-looking steel rod in this form – to the boy, who accepted it with both hands, almost hugging it. The thing was actually heavier than it looked.

"Let's hope this works," Chip said as he carefully manoeuvred the rod through the hole, firmly wedging it between Teletraan-I's victimized tubing and the underside of the drone, a feat that would prove difficult for the Transformers owing to the limited flexibility of their bulky size. For Chip, though, it was fairly easy, an after a few pushes and pulls, were convinced that it was held strongly enough for the next part. He retreated back and gestured for Wheeljack to do the rest, knowing that he was far more qualified for it.

The Lancer-former was happy to oblige; he stepped forward and took hold of the visible datapad's rod in his digits ad pushed down. It budged only a little, but it was enough encouragement for the mech to try it again, once, twice, and on the third attempt, the nanobot was completely unhinged from its perch, sending the rod sliding out of the hole completely when it was pushed down. Chip was quick to act, lurching out of his chair and plunged his arms entirely into the vacated hollow, his hands grasping around for the trying-to-run-away drone and managing to snatch it by two of its spindly legs.

"I got it!" he screamed, the side of his torso leaning against the computer console, the sting of impact when he hit it fading at the exciting rush of success. The spy-nanobot wiggled vigorously in the human's hold, the chief cause of Chip's struggle as he pushed himself against the console's surface, using his shoulder as leverage, bringing the little culprit out from its hiding place. Red Alert's horns crackled all the more intensely at the sight of his trouble's source, anger, irritation, worry and a million other feelings brewing through his systems. It was just fitting, then, that the Security Director picked the tiny drone from Chip and held it gingerly before crushing it between his thumb and fore-digit. The screech it gave upon deactivation would have been pitiful had Chip not been reminded that they were almost – and could possibly be killed if they did not bring Teletraan-I back online – pitiful. Then, its red 'eyes' flickered one last time before going limp in Red Alert's death hold, legs curling inwards just like a real spider would.

"And that's the end of Mr. Spidey," Wheeljack supplied, sounding as satisfied as Red alert looked at its destruction. He held out his servo to the other, silently asking to be given the now-barely-recognizable spider and was given a what-on-Cybertron-do-you-want-to-do-with-it by Red Alert before shrugging an _it's not my business anymore as long as you don't make it explode _and dropped said spider-bot into Wheeljack's palms, acknowledging the inventor's passion with dissecting stuffs. Perhaps there was something that could be learnt from it after all, but Red Alert was in no mood to figure out how it could be made useful to the Autobot's cause, more interested to get Teletraan-I, and consequently the security system, back to functionality.

"Let's see if that's the end of our troubles too," the Lamborghini said tersely, whirling about to return his attention to Teletraan-I.

Wheeljack, after depositing his unusual prize in his subspace, help his human friend get to his wheelchair, now that he realized that the Chase boy was struggling to hoist himself up. Chip muttered a relieved_ thanks_ before they both went to Red Alert's side, immediately helping the Security Director in his endeavours.

"Attempting reboot now," the Lamborghini announced. Teletraan-I went eerily irresponsive for a few astroseconds before, thankfully, the whole place was filled with the quieter hums and bleeps that indicated the supercomputer's activity. The back-up power supply was turned off; the lighting returned to its full capacity, the screens came out of their useless blackness to display readouts and bars and other information, and all the occupants of the Command Deck sighed in relief.

It wasn't over yet, though. The defensive turrets were still offline and Wheeljack hasten to get things right, digits in a flurry of typing motions on the control panel, requesting reports and sending commands back. The sense of emergency in his systems multiplied with the realization that the survival of the Autobots pretty much relied on the speed with which he was working.

Meanwhile, as Wheeljack worked on the security matters, Red Alert's command to Teletraan-I had induced a signal that spread throughout its connection to the orbiting SkySpies. _Find Optimus Prime_, the signal would said if it was to be translated, and soon the SkySpies were all tuned to the energy signatures of the mentioned Autobots; they were found easily, and analysis indicated that none of them were missing. The information raced back to the base, where Teletraan-I presented it to the waiting Security Director who accepted it and sent another order in turn; _establish connection with the Autobots_. Again, this message were carried out by the supercomputer's satellites and before long, one of them that happened to be the nearest to the Prime and his band, was knocking on the communication line that was itself trying to be connected.

_**xxxxx**_

"I have a hit!"

Blaster's shout was met by a chorus of relieved and somewhat joyous vocalizations. Spirits went high up again, and even Optimus Prime could not completely hide his liberation at the encouraging development.

"Patch us through," he said to the boom box-former and it was done immediately. A voice floated out of his exaggerated speakers but thank Primus the volume was toned down so as to prevent damages to the others' audios.

::Autobot base to Optimus Prime. Come in.::

It was a weak signal and it was all that Blaster could to amplify it, which was saying something for his skills. Acknowledging the need for response, he wirelessly connected his communication line to Optimus', allowing himself to be used as the middle-mech while his leader and the home base exchanged reports.

::This is Optimus Prime. Proceed, Red Alert.::

::Thank Primus you've answered!::

So relieved did Red Alert sounded that an image of him swiping perspiration off his brow readily popped up in Optimus's CPU. And then, the Security Director launched himself into speaking, in few choice words that conveyed the whole situation in condensed, yet informative report; of how the Ark suddenly lost power, of Teletraan-I's system failure and its cause, of the attack by the Decepticons...and how the resident Autobots were out there, fighting to defend their home and friends from falling in the enemies' servos.

::Can you get the defensive turrets online?::

It was the most effective weapon in current situations; their steel projectiles could melt Transformers' armours at ease, and they could do so at 2000 rounds per astroseconds, and even if their bullets were used up, a special mechanism kept refilling their barrels until their sensors detected no offensive signatures in the vicinity and the turrets stop shooting. Even an army of Decepticons would not survive such a heavy blow. Unfortunately, Red Alert had some bad news regarding their best hope at victory.

::Wheeljack is working on it, but it can take some time.:: He then explained further the cause of the delay as was encountered by the Lancia – that the system-hacking had prompted the failsafe protocol to severe connection to weaponries that were yet to be infected by the virus. Wheeljack would have to override the codes to get the turrets firing again, and that was the next challenge that faced the Autobots.

::Continue working on the turrets,:: The Prime finally said, ::And dispatch all Autobots at your disposal for the Ark's defense. Megatron must NOT succeed.::

Optimus Prime did not continue with the predictions if the situations turned out otherwise – he did not need to as the crews knew it by Spark. Redundant information would only cause unproductive fear, certainly something that they did not need in current circumstances.

::Yes, Prime. Can you...can you make it to the Ark?::

It was a mentally difficult question to ask...and equally disheartening to answer. With the distance spanning the Ark and Prime's crew, it was not likely that they would be able to do so in time. Optimus's reply was as considerate as it was true:

::We'll make the best efforts that we can. Optimus out.::

When Red Alert too had severed his communication link from the leader's, Optimus Prime turned to look at his present soldiers and finding out mixtures of emotions on their faceplates; anger, desperation, worry...it took a massive amount of self-control not to show weaknesses in front of them and thank Primus that he still had it in him to remain calm, although for how much longer was impossible to tell.

"Cahm on, Prahm! We canna' wastin' tahm here while those Decepti-creeps get ta' the others!" It was Ironhide, agitated by the lack of action, who sprang before his leader, his fist waving, pointing to the general direction where the Ark was. Knowing that his comrades were being threatened and that they were physically out of reach to help was a torture to the warrior – at least, trying to reach them, no matter how futile it seemed, gave him something to hope, to focus himself on.

Optimus Prime was having the same sentiment; he was about to issue his infamous transform-and-roll_-_outcommand when he noticed a servo shooting up from among the crowd assembled before him. Jazz's servo, to be exact. Others, who had been prepared themselves to change to their alt-modes, transferred their gazes from the Prime to the saboteur, still hoping to hear a sliver of encouragement in such bleak situations.

"Yes, Jazz?"

The Porsche dropped his servo once his designation was uttered. He stepped up to the leader, and on his faceplates Optimus saw grimness so bitter that it was almost surprising to see on the normally-jovial mech. When he spoke, the voice was calm, calculated, but the underlying worry was still hard to miss.

"Prime, we ain't gonna do much good rollin' on our wheels. Hate te' say it, but them Cons are gonna step on 'em long 'fore we get to 'em."

Behind his mask, Optimus gritted his dentas together – the direness of it all hit him all the harder coming from his soldiers. Before he could reply, though, someone from the crowd – someone who turned out to be Sunstreaker – hollered, "So we're going to sit here doing nothing?"

Jazz looked stung, as if the thought of him suggesting something so despicable was a poison – and indeed, the saboteur was one of the most restless soldiers who ever joined Optimus's rule; someone who would not remain in inaction for long. The visor glowed alarmingly, but the anger-induced brightening was gone in the next nanoklik when he said, "Hear me out, boss-bot."

"Any suggestion is GREATLY welcomed, Jazz."

The Porsche looked relieved. "Well, we ain't gotta hope to get back if we drive so...I'm thinkin' of something bit crazy here." What he was thinking was not verbally told, but he shifted his visored optics to look past the leader, where the foundation of the space Bridge Ring still stood, awaiting only for complete demolition to be wiped out of existence by the Autobots.

The other Autobots were positively stunned. Silence reigned before, finally, a muttering broke through them, but none voiced out his concern more loudly than the team's medic.

"Wait – Are you suggesting that we are going to travel through the Space Bridge?" Ratchet barged through the grouped Autobots to emerge before the Prime and the Third-In-Command, barely registering the identities of mechs he had elbowed aside in his advance.

"Why not? It's the fastest way to get back home."

"Jazz, this Ring is designed to receive the vortex, not create it! And even if we can reprogram it to open the dimensional tear, there is NO Ring near the Ark to be connected to! The flux will be devastating to mechs inside and nearby the Space Bridge without proper receiving and initiating structures! Not to mention the possibility we can end up absolutely anywhere – perhaps even farther than we are!"

"Me and Blaster could try reversin' the programmin' te' make it the Opening Ring," Jazz shrugged in that take-it-or-leave-it fashion he was quite well-known for, "And Blaster could hook up with Teletraan-I to pinpoint our landin' place. It's our only choice."

Ratchet's frowning faceplates indicated desire for further arguments. His CPU were battling with reasons from both ends of choices – tearing dimensional fabric was risky enough with properly set-up Space Bridge; doing so with rudimentary equipments was the rough equivalent of walking down a busy road blindfolded while hoping that one did not bump into any obstacles. But Jazz had his point – it _was_ the only way to return to the Ark before Megatron could overwhelm its defence force. Finally admitting to the worthy risks they were about to take, Ratchet's vents sighed in defeat as the owner took a step back, shoulder-struts slumping resignedly. "If Optimus Prime is consent with it, then so do I."

The Porsche-former seemed equally relieved now that he had gained the medic's partial approval, which naturally carried considerable weigh in it. He turned next to his leader, who was himself divided between agreeing and doing the opposite. However, the thought of just leaving his comrades to almost-certain doom soon made up his processors although his logic circuits whispered words of danger. Almost reluctantly, the Prime nodded, and the decision from two of the most respectable individuals in the group made the final decision.

"Right. Now let's get crankin'!" Jazz said and motioned for Blaster to join in his endeavour, his mood improving considerably now that he had something to work on. Soon, they were lost in their worlds as the space Bridge solely occupied their attentions, their muttered discussions being somewhat an assurance to the other agitated Autobots that something were being done to help those back at the Ark.

Optimus Prime detached himself from the crowd, seeking comfort in solace. Once again, the fates of his soldiers rested on his shoulder-struts for his decision possessed power in it that almost frightened the Prime at times – he had worked hard to gain their respect and trust, but never would he imagine that their faith in him would be so strong that whatever he called for would be obliged without much argument. This was one of those scenes that proved their belief in him – and the weight of knowing it was almost agonizing to bear.

"You are doing what you thought is best, Optimus."

Optimus was not exactly startled, but he was not expecting anyone to realize his seclusion – though when he saw that the interrupting mech was Ratchet, he knew that he should have guessed it. His medic-friend seemed to have the telepathic ability to sense his distress, coming to him and saying the right consoling words just at the right moment.

"I know – but I wish I know whether I am making the right decision or not. It is painful to think that one wrong call is all that's needed sometimes to make the difference between survival and deactivation."

"You are not responsible for every death that happens, Optimus. Painful as it is, this is a war – and war can be very demanding in its toll."

The Prime had long realized this cruel fact ever since the aforementioned title was bestowed upon him. Unfortunately, the knowledge added the burden rather than easing it; it was unavoidable that Spark would be lost, no matter how detailed a plan seemed to be, or how perfect its execution was. It humbled the leader that even with his position and power, there would always be time when there was simply nothing that he could do save to hope for the best.

The medic was always an understanding friend to him, even before he became a Prime, and it was a small relief that he was not some godly figure to this one mech. Optimus remained motionless and silent, but the tentative touch on his lower arm was gladly received, comforted somewhat by companionship provided by Ratchet. Here, at least, was someone who knew that despite his proud stance, housed in this shell was still a mortal Transformer struggling to carry out his duty as best as he could – and that eased the worries he had harboured for the well-being of his comrades while waiting for the Space Bridge modification to finish and finding out whether he had made the right call or not this time.

_**XxXxXxXxXx**_

Perhaps a whole orn had passed; perhaps barely a breem had gone. Either way, Starscream was not aware of the time's proceeding, his processors being too caught up in the unbelievable situation he was in. Curled up on the berth, for all in the world he looked like a sulky vornling being denied of his wants – and in reality, that was not exactly far from the truth.

"I couldn't be true..." The jet muttered to himself; he shook his helm as if trying to get an undesirable imagery out of his CPU, his arms tightening the embrace he had on himself. Alone in the brig, Starscream sorely missed the company of his trine while he struggled to come in term with what had just happened – that Skyfire, the gentle, beautiful Skyfire, had actually _rejected _his advance.

It was disappointing for the jet-former to be answered with a _No_ when he made his move; armed with his good looks and sweet glossa, Starscream could capture the attention of anybody he desired. And though he had never deliberately used his charm on Skyfire – simply because he was still unsure then whether it was a good idea or not to be intimate with your laboratory partner – he was certain that his attempts would not be put down, just like many of his wants for one-night flings had never been denied.

...Screw 'disappointing'. It was downright Sparkbreaking when Skyfire had unexpectedly stood up and left him halfway through their activities. How could he? Wasn't it clear enough that Starscream had wanted them to be together – and not for that one time only? Was the Autobot under the impression that their interfacing was merely a come-and-go thing? It was not likely; Skyfire did not accept offers of sexual activity of any kind unless feelings were involved. It was never merely a matter of satisfying one's lust for the shuttle – his partners had always been what he thought would be his permanent Bondmates, though in the end all of his budding relationships were ugly ended, some because the other had simply lost interest in him or they were daunted by the complication their size difference presented.

"What are you thinking, Skyfire?" He asked to the ceiling above him – and predictably, he got no answer. It did not cross his CPU that the reason was because of physical appearances – and in any case, it was definitely not true. He knew his old friend enough to know that those blue optics looked past one's armours when evaluating an individual, be it to be mere friends or much more than that. So confused Starscream was, it felt like his processors were going to burn out their circuitries just any nanoklik now. As he continued to wallow in his own misery, he barely registered the commotions that happened beyond his cell's walls. Honestly, he could not care less; his CPU was tuned inwards, angered and yet disappointed by the unexpected rejection...until something interesting roused him from his stupor.

The energy rods that barred his prison seemed to flicker.

Shocked, Starscream instinctively sat up and his optics were trained towards the rods which had been imprisoning him for so long. He even got so far as rebooting those optical sensors, fearing that they were damaged somehow that made him see things that were not there. Perhaps he had been hoping to get out so much that it made him obsessed...?

The brig's lights flickered again, and before the Seeker's disbelieving optics, so did the energy rods before they sizzled out of existence altogether, leaving the prison cell's entrance gaping wide open. Too distracted by the shocking development, Starscream was a little late in realizing that the energy chains that attached his cuffed pede to the wall seemed to glow with weaker lights – and appeared suspiciously amorphous. It was almost too good to be true that Starscream thought he was really hallucinating, already pinning down his claustrophobia for making up such seemingly sweet dreams before he realized that the Ark's interiors were echoing with the tell-tale signs of it running on backup power supply.

_Could it be...?_ Starscream was definitely thinking of the so-called rescue mission that Skywarp and Thundercracker had hinted at before. It was impossible that the Autobots would let the Ark's security system failed so thoroughly that even the brig area, where he was detained, would be cut off from power, which meant that Decepticon works were definitely involved here. A thrill spread in his systems at the thought of easy freedom that lay beyond, one that rivalled his sorrow at being denied Skyfire's companionship; he would be able to fly again, and his Trine would be there to meet him and Megatron –

_Megatron._ The dreaded name had jumped into his processors so automatically that Starscream himself was surprised by his readiness to think of the mech. It did not stop him from wishing that somehow, Megatron would need him back in the Decepticon army, despite knowing the hurt that waited upon his return. After all, didn't this rescue mission was approved by him? At least, that implied some degree of desire to have him back in the Decepticon force, even if it's just for him to be Megatron's favourite punching bag...

Well, he could be bothered about the reasons later. Right now, his CPU was out of its fuzziness enough to process that the most important thing to do now was to get out – and fast. There was no telling for how much longer the Ark would stay like this or when the Autobots would realize that he was on the loose. The energy chain was not much of a problem now, it being of the model that uses energy fed by the Ark's power generator and thus had lost much of its strength now that the main supply had been shut off – a hard yank weakened its hold, and a few vigorous pulls led to his much-wanted release. The metal cuffs that were strapped to his pedes remained, but the chains that restricted him to the area inside the brig had vanished altogether. It was still unsettling though, as he stepped past the line where the energy rods used to be and the paranoia in him reacted, conjuring up mental images of his chassis being sliced by the suddenly-activated bars.

Unarmed as he was made the Seeker all the more skittish; he had to find armaments of some sort before attempting to break out. Memory files pulled from his databanks showed him a useful information that had been imparted by the Autobot scientist Perceptor when he first woke up after being in the enemies' custody – that his null-rays were somewhere nearby, in the Confiscation Storage Room or whatever it was called. Obviously, that would be his first destination – he couldn't get away without being prepared, and the enemy-stunning guns were the best that he could get in his desperate situation (though if given the chance, he rather had more devastative weapons when being so deep in the Autobot's stronghold). Still, the information was rather sketchy – the journey from here to there opened the risks of being prematurely spotted before he could get himself prepared and the notion made his survival drive kicked in; a nervous Seeker was always a dangerous adversary, null-rays or no. His chassis was shivering, true, but it was not solely from fear – it was the thrill of knowing that familiar faces were waiting outside to bring him back where he belonged.

_**xxxxx**_

Flying high above the battlefield, Skyfire found himself getting increasingly frustrated at his failures to actively lend a helping servo to his battered friends. In fact, he was having his own servos full with trying to avoid the Seekers hot on his afterburners, twisting and twirling in fashions that have the onlookers' processors aching from the intricacies of them. It did not help that he rushed into battles without preparations – like neglecting to refuel, or allowing himself to get so exhausted by...personal activities before engaging the enemies. Not like he could have foreseen this, but the urge to scold himself was too strong to be ignored. _I could've done better,_ he thought, again and again, at almost every turn he made as the rigorous dogfighting continued. Being a shuttle meant to travel interstellar distances, stamina was one of his attributes but the suppressed power to his engine was evening out the odds – keeping his full flight potential when flying under a planet's atmosphere was too power-wasting, but it also proved to be quite disappointing when confronted with the two Decepticon F-15s.

And there was Megatron.

Hovering and content to watch the carnage that erupted all around the gun-former, a sort of anger-induced warmth circulated in Skyfire's systems. Lying to gain his allegiance after his de-frosting was one thing; now, to see Megatron's obvious joy at causing destruction made him wonder all the more. How could Starscream have pledged himself to this wretched Cybertronian was beyond the shuttle's comprehension...and it saddened him. He had thought that he knew everything there was about his friend before, but it seemed this proved otherwise. Of course, people could be different when next you met him after nine million stellar cycles of separation...

Internal warnings beeped as his scanner detected offensive objects heading in his direction. Distracted by his thoughts, Skyfire tilted himself slightly to the side without his usual grace, narrowly avoiding what turned out to be Skywarp's third wasted missiles – he had completely exhausted his heat-guided ones, and that was at least a small relief to the outnumbered Autobot. Skyfire desperately wanted to participate directly in the battles instead of dodging the Decepticon Seekers, managing to quell his disappointment only by telling himself that at least, he was luring the biggest threat away from his friends. He was wondering how long he could keep up at this when he noticed a significant increase in the Ark's activity levels – and felt hope rekindled in his Spark.

Having glimpsed the trio of Wheeljack, Red Alert and Chip Chase on his way out, his logic circuits immediately deduced that it was them who had been responsible for this encouraging development. Despite not being involved directly in planning its defence, Skyfire knew that the Ark was protected by the gun turrets placed strategically around the perimeter and was expecting them to pop up any astrosecond now. Instead, he was disappointed as nothing happened even after a few kliks had passed – plenty of time for the detection system to recognize hostile presences and act on it, that was, if it was functional at all. That Skyfire was still pretty much fighting for the upper servos in this exhaustive battle were indication enough that not all things were restored. The flare of expectation that had recently burst forth died down to desperate hoping, seeing that Skywarp and Thundercracker showed no signs of giving up anytime soon. As enduring as he was, Skyfire was not a god to continue indefinitely.

Then, _something_ happened.

It started as a sudden spike in his scanner, a reading of energy signatures that was unlike those emitted by Cybertronian Sparks. It was difficult to analyze it while dodging rounds from the jets' machine-guns but Skyfire managed it – and was surprised to arrive at the conclusion. Instead of coming from a single, or even a group of Transformers, the energy signatures were too intense and too sudden that they could only be sourced from fluctuation in the fabric of reality itself. It was a Space Bridge only just budding into existence.

The revelation seemed to dawn on his pursuers too, the distraction making their flights less coordinated and the chase less persistent. Despite being a Decepticon technology, this Bridge was obviously unplanned for opening it required specific structures to receive or initiate it – near the Ark was nothing of that sort. Self-preservation programming within their CPUs frowned upon this unknown development, driving them to steer clear away of the budding space-time opening. Instinctively, without any verbal agreement, the chase was broken as the three flyers broke formation, flying away from the dimensional tear that had emerged out of thin air, seventy feet or so above the ground. The sudden stillness that enshrouded the battlefield informed the shuttle that the others had also taken a cautious note on this unexpected situation, even Megatron. Of course, the Decepticon Supreme Commander did not stop firing his Fusion Cannon, but he did so with less enthusiasm. The Space Bridge was still immature, but the energy it spat out was now strong enough to manifest itself in the form of swirling light, haloing an ever-growing dark spot at the centre.

Skyfire's scientific CPU reeled with possibilities and circumstances that led to this event but nothing that was quite logical came to him. It was not very likely that Shockwave would send reinforcement via poorly-received Space Bridge; the fluctuation could throw the crossers halfway around the planet if not off the planet altogether, or shred their chasses to pieces if its integrity was badly compromised with such long distances spanning the two openings. Coming from Nemesis would be even more ridiculous, knowing the energy cost to open it and the estimated stock in the Decepticon's keeping. He contented himself to watch, as with the others present, each hoping that whatever that might emerge from the depth of it would be beneficial to their own faction. As the light surrounding the unfathomable hole intensifies, so did the opening stretch open, readying itself to spit whatever it had in its passage, wind suddenly picking up from the strength of its vortex. Then, as his lenses tuned out towards the light-encircled opening, Skyfire could make out silhouettes emerging from the brightness inside. Vehicles – and very likely Transformers in their alternative modes. He could not identify the individuals inside, though, and thus readied his weaponries in case they were of hostile nature. Clearer and clearer the outlines became, until each being inside became defined enough to be recognized –

"You son of glitches!" Megatron bellowed, his arm-cannon swinging away from the present Autobots, instead pointing the barrel of his weapon towards the emerging figures, "Decepticons, ATTACK!"

But Megatron was a little bit too late.

_**xxxxx**_

Despite the steady murmurs that coloured the background, the waiting Autobots were quite silent as they waited for Jazz and Blaster's tinkering on the Decepticon's Space Bridge to come to a successful finish. They knew the complexity of the operation, certainly, but the thought of their comrades facing Megatron's full force were driving them quite crazy for action. At the fringe of this group, secluded from the others, Ratchet and Optimus had each other for company, reassuring each other silently that all was going to be alright; the leader with his decision, the medic with his worry that passing through the haphazard Space Bridge would result in dismembered parts. As much as he was against it, Ratchet had persuaded himself that NOT using it would result in greater, more imminent loss – the Ark needed reinforcement fast if it was to survive the assault.

That had not made his Spark swirled with less anxiety, but he was definitely made less defiant by it. There were times when Prowl-like logic just couldn't be added to the equation and a vornling's recklessness was needed instead – one that Jazz and Blaster had much in supply, though they were far from being youthful. He was, though, thinking how many spare-parts he had in his med-bay, or how many mech-hours it took to fix the wounded Autobots, the possible already-damaged-in-battles notwithstanding. And bubbling just beneath his conscious thinking processes was the thought of a certain Autobot – a flyer, to be exact. It did not occupy his CPU, but it was there nevertheless, almost as if patiently waiting for its turn to be pondered over. It seemed that anything about Skyfire was left with the stamp of its owner's personality – quiet, but not unnoticeable. What would he do in this situation? Flying out to battle? Possibly. Shut in his lab? _Probably,_ his processors churned the answer out and it made Ratchet felt sick. It hurt to think that the shuttle might be so reclusive that he would dismiss joining the fight, but it was a probability, despite having witnessed Skyfire's willingness to use force if necessary.

It would have hurt much more, but Blaster's triumphant shout of "It's done!" brushed away any thought that did not concern the Space Bridge. Immediately, he turned and made his way towards the centre of the hill, where the Ring lay, following behind Optimus's broad back that permitted only scarce view if he were to walk directly behind him. And the other Autobots – they did pretty much the same, not sharing much of Ratchet's own anxiety to be let sucked into an untested Space Bridge. Oh yes, they were worried, but the eagerness to help their desperate brothers-in-arms drowned all else. Sometimes, and this was one of those, Ratchet was grateful that they were not coded with the same level of fussiness as he had.

There was some addition to the Space Bridge, Ratchet saw as he and the others gathered before Blaster and Jazz. A makeshift ramp, salvaged from metal scraps that had been torn off from the Ring's structure, had been placed right through the entrance, the uplifted end ending right at the centre inside it, some ten feet off ground level. The medic was puzzled as to its use, but decided to wait for the explanation to come later.

"Is it ready?" Ratchet heard Sideswipe asked from the centre of the group.

"Nuh-uh, not yet. But once we juice up the baby with some energon, it'll be hot t' go." This was Jazz answering; precious few others talked the way he did. "Them 'Cons leave enough cubes to help us with that."

"You hear him, boys. Let's get working!" Hound said with enthusiasm that did not quite match the horrifying consequence of their actions – that the Space Bridge could also spell their dooms.

And so, they did; Hound and Mirage and the Twins, Ironhide and Ratchet, even the great Optimus Prime himself laboured and toiled in putting the leftover energon cubes into the energy chamber tucked up in the inner diameter of the Space Bridge's Ring. It was merely a rectangular hole that barely looked important at all to untrained optics, but Jazz's were not and he had found it earlier when they started modifying it to their own uses. With help from the whole team (Jazz and Blaster were at the console still, monitoring all the little things that made big things work), the Ring was soon loaded, soon being barely two kliks after Hound's last word. They stood fixedly on their spots, waiting for the Bridge's unofficial mechanics to had their say – whether it's green to go or otherwise.

"Well, looks like we'd just enough to get the Bridge starts," Jazz reported. It was both a good and a bad thing, a double-edged knife.

"So quit talkin' an' fire up that _damned_ thing already!" The voice was impatient – Ironhide's, no doubt about that. The Southern accent was too hard to miss any given orn. That _fuh-yer _instead of _fire. _

Jazz gave him one of his powerful stares, this one saying _tut-tut, you're going to listen to me first before we do anything_. However, when he spoke, it was with patience and understanding, though a little rough around the edge, "I will, after I tell you this – We've _just enough_ energon cubes to get it goin'. Means it ain't gonna stay open for too long, and if we don't get our afts out b'fore it collapsed, we're done for."

The implication of it sank easily into Ironhide's, as well as the others' CPUs, but Jazz's point was still a little bit unclear. It was Hound who verbally told this in a simple question: "So?"

"_So _me and Blaster thought it'll be bit risky to just stand in there and let it suck us into the vortex. It'll be too slow to build the sucking power. _So_ we think we shoulda stand outside – get a lil' distance to run – and when it opens, w'all run into it. That'll give us a lil' speed boost. Not much, I know, but it might be just what we need to cover the Bridge b'fore it close. Who knows? We _might _not need it at all, but just to be on da' safe side."

"So, that's why that ramp is there," Hound eyed said object and nodded, approving the plan.

"Right y'are, my man."

And there was no more questions asked, which sped things up a notch. In this uncertainty, every little things – every petty details – counts. They backed away from the Space Bridge Ring, as far as the hilltop's flat surface would allow, but still keeping in line with the entrance. It was decidedly Blaster who would initiate the opening while the others(including Jazz) stood ready to run, roll, whatever they would to increase their speed, and made for the vortex once it opened big enough for one Transformer to pass through; Mirage would be at the rear, whose speed and open top would allow Blaster to slip quickly inside him and transported him along into it before the opening collapsed, and hopefully they would arrive at the other side unscathed. Most importantly, they would arrive at the _correct _place on the other side, not on some weird blue-grassed pink-skied planet hundreds of light years away from Earth. It was a plan that was sketchy at best, and it was the best that they could come up with on the occasion.

Optimus Prime had tried to contact the base before they proceeded but even with Blaster's communication skill, all they could hear was static. It would seem that the communication channel, and perhaps scores of other systems that Teletraan-I managed, were still not fully restored, given the vicious virus it had just been cured from. "We'll have to make do," Optimus Prime eventually concluded, surrendering to his inability without easy feelings.

"Let's just hope da' others' didna start shootin' at us when we came outta this," Ironhide ruefully said. Ratchet, knowing the old warrior well, could detect the uneasiness the thought produced that had partially bled into his tone.

"And hope some o' us barrel ourselves into Megatron when we do," Jazz cheerfully added. He was also worried but it was his nature to not let it show and tried to lighten the mood. Which he partially succeeded.

"We will all relish the chance, Jazz," Optimus said with that hint of a smile, even though his mouth was not visible. Then, in a stronger, more commanding voice, he boomed, "Autobots, transform!"

They all did, except for Blaster whose servos were still readied on the Ring's computer panel. There was unseen pressure on his shoulder-struts, one that made him shone with condensation his frantic system's warmth had produced. And it was reasonable – he had to keep the Space Bridge stable long enough for them to enter, and hoped for it to last long enough to spit them out at the Ark. Anyone burdened with that kind or responsibility would be pretty much like the boombox-former.

"Opening the Space Bridge," Blaster's electronic voice announced as his digits tapped and keyed something on the console. The usual humming that preceded the dimensional opening was soon heard, sluggish than it normally sounded, but enough to indicate its imminence. Engines revved in preparation for the much-needed burst of speed, some of them having only just enough senses to not release the brakes. Ratchet also fired up his, which was a lot more unimpressive compared to, say, the Twins', and hoped that whatever acceleration it could provide would be enough. The air started to crackle by then and grey clouds swirled above the Ring, too low to be natural ones and also seemed charged. Sparks thumped as the Autobots waited for Optimus's _Go _signal, waiting for even the slightest rise in his engine's pitch that would indicate the coming of it. It was a tense-filled moment that had left none unaffected.

And then, something read on the screen made Blaster's faceplates contorted into that decisive _it's now or never _expression – following it was the sudden appearance of a beam of light, shooting upwards from the inside of the Ring and disappearing in clouds-haloed hole about a hundred metre above the ground, causing wind to speed up and lifting rocks and smaller debris off the ground. Optimus saw it clearly, as with the others, and shouted "_Roll out!_" with all the volume his vocalizer could muster. He was barely heard with the howling winds at the place, but heard they did, and wheels screeched as the rubbers struggled to gain traction with the ground. Fishtails of dirt were spurted from behind some of those powered by the more powerful engines and the Twins's Lamborghini modes spun a little before shooting forward, Jazz tailing almost bumper-to-bumper. Optimus's truck-form accelerated impressively towards the Space Bridge despite his bulky form; Hound just seemed to slingshot, his 4WD configuration helping him to achieve that. Ratchet and Ironhide felt like creeping at first, and then, as if their engines suddenly realized the need for speed, they accumulated velocity quickly enough that they were not far behind the rest as they mounted the ramp. Mirage was the last to go, but his racing car alt-form allowed him to build speed so quickly that he was soon beside Ratchet as they neared the Ring, a transformed Blaster quickly leaping into his seat as he passed. Then, all of them were engulfed in brilliant light, embraced by the crazy wind; they did not even reach the centre, barely clearing the Ring's arm when each felt like being vacuumed upwards. They were launched to the air once they had exhausted the ramp's runway, but none of them fell down; the Space Bridge's power had started to work on them and soon the whole car-forms were zooming to the hole in the sky, thrown a little to the side from their remaining built-up speed but were sucked in to the centre almost immediately. It was chaos inside the pillar of light and wind; more often than not they crashed into each other, only their sturdy armours keeping their chasses intact. Blaster was almost thrown out of Mirage, but the Ligier managed to snap on the seatbelts just before the mech was out of his reach. They seemed to spiral rather than moving in straight line as was normal when one travelled via the Space Bridge; already it was unstable because there was no proper structure into which it can unload its contents on the other end.

The Autobots were all swallowed by the darkness beyond, just astroseconds before the opening collapsed on itself. And, although there was none to bear witness of it, the rudimentary Ring was soon given pressure that was too much to handle, and the whole structure crumbled into useless debris as the light beam receded into the dimensional hole. There would be no one that could benefit from it anymore.

_**xxxxx**_

Ratchet felt like the world had gone mad – maybe it _did _become mad that moment, as he was tossed about randomly in the world of darkness that was the inside of the Space Bridge. His comrades were everywhere – and thankfully enough, each of them was still in one piece. They had kept in their alternative modes because it was too bothersome to transform when they were still struggling against the wind and the pull. It was one of the roughest things he had ever done in his activation cycle, and the medic had done aplenty. This, however, was so bad that his fuel tank felt like regurgitating all its energon content. That would be as ugly a sight as it was uncomfortable to feel, which was why the ambulance was very grateful that he managed to hold on.

In his spinning and turning, though, Ratchet eventually caught a glimpse of a small, different kind of darkness in the infinite world of the Space Bridge's darkness. Somebody shouted "_There it is!_", confirming what he saw was no imagination. Ratchet knew at once what 'it' was – an ordinary night sky of the physical world. Star-splattered, there was no doubt of it, only the question of the night sky seen from _where._ It was impossible to think later how they could right themselves so that their car-forms' frontquarters were pointed at that ever-widening crack into reality, but they did it alright, although with much difficulty and not a few colourful curses. Ratchet himself might have done a good deal of the latter, but he couldn't remember doing so – only his struggles. It was then, when they were stabilized enough, the Autobots noticed that as the hole grew wider, its edges were laced with increasingly bright lights, as if stretching it open had created frictions intense enough to cause the air to burn. That might not be it – but then, they did not think much past _we have to get to the hole _or _we have to get out of here_. It was purely survival drive rather than analytical thought processes at that time.

Even as they fought to get to the opening, they became increasingly aware of how it seemed to pull them towards it. As if it was just as eager to spit them out, much like one's systems would reject any abusive matter in them. Which also led to a troubling simile that regarded his initial reaction of the Transformer's equivalent of vomiting as his fuel tank threatened to lurch out all of the energon inside.

"Autobots!" Optimus's shout was just only loud enough to be heard above the armours' clashing and the roaring wind that was not quite wind, "Prepare for impact!"

He did not have to specify impact that was caused by _what_; the dimensional opening was wide enough to permit a view that was not possible unless sighted from somewhere that was not quite at ground level; there was a good chance that their journeys would end with not-so-gentle landing.

Ratchet was not the first to reach the opening of light; Optimus was, and he surrendered to the mighty, unexplainable pull that wanted him out of the Space Bridge. Ironhide was close to being the first, though, as he zoomed after his leader fast, yelling his exuberance and curses in unintelligible words. Jazz, flanked by Mirage (and Blaster in the Ligier's seat) and Hound, were next; one by one, Ratchet saw his comrades passed through the tear, and as he braced himself for the experience, the medic felt two masses sandwiching him from either side – Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The Twins had apparently realized that their precious CMO was a little behind and had decided to give a little companionship, if nothing else. Together, they exited the Space Bridge, almost being spat out, to a reality that was the Oregon desert.

And Ratchet was right; the unplanned opening formed some thirty, maybe forty feet above the Earth and they were falling fast as gravity took hold of their forms. Optimus was nearing the ground already, approaching at an angle, his engines revving to get the tires spinning so that they could keep up with his landing speed. Ironhide, Jazz, Hound and Mirage were taking similar steps, "whoa!" and _"_Oww!" being randomly vocalized as they hit the ground hard. Ratchet had only enough processing space in his CPU to notice that the rough landing had not, in fact, damaged them, before his own undercarriage slammed the Earth with a _thud_, the Twins still flanking him like loyal bodyguards, before their own wheels sent them spinning uncontrollably away from the medic – which truthfully, Ratchet was quite grateful for. Had they remained at his side, they risked running into each other and damaged more than they already sustained. There were more shouts, and the next thing he heard was a furious roar of "_Prrimme!_"

That voice was unmistakable, the hatred it contained as Optimus's designation was uttered; Megatron. Which also meant that they had been fortunately transported to exactly where they wanted to go. Ratchet was spared only a minor relief in that knowledge, knowing that the real challenge of driving back the intruders lay ahead, which would be far harder than simply let yourself being sucked into a Space Bridge. In the chaos, the medic heard only barely the order of "Autobots, transform!" from Optimus, drowned by the clashes of metals as the others reverted to their primary robotic configurations. He wasted no time to do as was told while the some of the new arrivals already dashed into battles with weapons aimed at whatever hostiles near enough to shoot at. Ratchet caught sight of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe shooting skyward, their rocket backpacks spewing fire from behind, in pursuit of the nearby Coneheads – no doubt to execute their famous Jet Judo technique. There was a twinge of worry at the sight of them – the Lamborghinis were perhaps the most reckless warriors that Ratchet had ever worked with, and despite their reputation and CPU-aching behaviours, vorns of confronting them made Ratchet's Spark soften for the duo. It didn't help that they had the sentiment that Ratchet could fix anything, hence they going into battles without much care for their parts. He could only spare them his best hope that they would survive this fracas, and went his own way – there were many others that needed his aids, like Prowl, who now lay off to one side off the battlefield, his injured Arm-strut still dripping energon blood as his other arm, the gun-holding one, was aiming at enemies near enough to get within range. Instinctively knowing where he was needed, all agility at his disposal was used to cross the crater-strewn, laser-rained desert to reach the Autobot Second, praying that it was still not too late for fixation.


	19. Chapter 19

Megatron had sensed that something awry had gone into his plan the first time his scanner detected the abnormal energy reading of the Space Bridge. Still, it was a shock to the gun-former when that Pit-damned Prime emerged from it, which was bad news for the Decepticon who quickly found out that motivated Autobots were much more dangerous than the normal ones; it was like the Autobots were granted strength worth of ten thousand soldiers, so spirited they were at the sight of their leader. As both leaders sprinted towards each other, their soldiers clashed and fought with even more ferocity only this time, no longer the Autobots the only ones who suffered casualties; the battle had begun to even out.

The tyrant realized of the gossip whispered behind his back, though he made no indication of hearing it – that he had an unshakeable bad habit to call off his troops at the slightest sign of defeat. Truth to be told, he hated doing so – the reasons he did was that he knew his soldiers quite well; well enough to predict that it was _them_ who would lost all spirits to battle when the Autobots seem to gain the upper servos. Which meant that to continue the battle would only prolong the inevitable defeat, a vain enough pursuit in the gun-former's optics. This time, however, despite the fifty-fifty chance of losing, Megatron would not surrender. There was steely determination in him to carry on, fuelled all the more by the knowledge that Starscream was still inside the Ark. _Let this be a successful mission,_ Megatron thought as he and Prime closed the distance, _even if I have to tear apart every single Autobot before I can find that son of a glitch._

Megatron had thought of Starscream with anger, but it was peculiar in nature – the warlord knew that rescuing that Seeker was becoming a top priority to him, almost an obsession, and that he would go to great lengths to prevent anyone but himself to have the jet. And he knew too, that this had become his weakness, one that he could not find a way to abandon, instead finding himself clinging more and more tenaciously to it. It was this thought of emotional attachment that unsettled him, breeding further a feeling of anger that he craftily directed in confronting the Prime. As always, their advanced armaments could not find advantage over the other, forcing them to resort to the brutal close-quarter combat. They met with a clash of the fists so loud that you would have thought that a gigantic pile-driver had rammed a piece of thick steel.

Optimus staggered backwards once his balled servo was withdrawn; depleted of his strength by earlier conflicts, Megatron became the stronger of the two. The gun-former rained blows after blows on whatever part of the Autobot that was exposed, and the latter struggled to block or avoid a good score of them. In fact, Optimus even managed to counter with a kick or two of his own, but with noticeably less force than usual. Not that it made the pain better by much; Megatron was mildly surprised that a punch to his chest-piece stung him to the point of disorientation. Optimus Prime might be a soft-Sparked piece of Cybertanium, but there was nothing soft about his Cybertanium fists. Both leaders were vicious with their attacks, striking with physical forces but fuelled by their thoughts – Optimus, in the knowledge that his defeat would wipe out the Autobots from the face of the Earth, and Megatron presuming that losing to Prime would rob him of the chance to see his Second again. When the latter landed his next punch under Optimus's mask-covered jawline, a boiling wrath seized him as he thought again of Starscream, who by merely surviving was passively forcing him to go through all this slag.

Overhead, jets thundered past with dizzying speed; they were the Coneheads, vainly trying to shake off the Twins from their chasses, whose barnacle-grips were too strong to fail just yet. Distracted and manipulated by the Lamborghinis, Ramjet and Thrust fly like repellent-sprayed bugs, while Dirge attempted and failed at dislodging the Autobots from his wingmates without harming them in the process. Away from this almost comical confrontations, a less laughable dogfight erupted between the Command Trinemembers and Skyfire – apparently taking strength from Optimus's appearance, the Autobot shuttle had renewed his efforts to chase them out from the perimeter, grimly aware that if he failed or made a slip, one of them could easily fly unhindered to the Ark and bomb it to smithereens. Not a cheerful thought at all, but a very motivational one.

In a war, though, any seasoned warrior would tell you that experiences and skills were only part of the decision-maker; dominating it was fortune, and it could be very unreliable for it was a friend to everybody, deciding to favour one while neglecting the other and could as quickly changed its mind. Skyfire was having a taste of this cruel fact when a stray shot hit his underside just as he was within range to fire his own twin lasers – it was not enough to hurt, but it did distract him. His surveillance camera switched angle reflexively to see who had done it, soon relieved that it was only Smokescreen (who waived apologetically as the shuttle thundered past before turning to confront Ravage and Frenzy) before cold dread took him. Skywarp and Thundercracker had taken the momentary lapse to pull away from Skyfire, engines burning full-force and close to the limit point, making a crow's flight towards the Ark.

_The Ark. _

Skyfire's engine roared deafeningly as he built up speed to catch up to the Seekers, who were already quite far ahead. Flying low to avoid the upper atmosphere's stronger wind, the shuttle was forced to dodge the increasingly frequent stray shots (one or two might be intended) as he crossed above the bulk of the battling forces, his mass making it harder to wind around compared to the lighter jets he was pursuing. The distance was reduced, but it did so far too slowly, and the Ark was getting bigger in his perspective. Ahead, Skywarp had slowed down a little but Thundercracker was still maintaining his speed – the former was intent to keep Skyfire busy while his wingmate penetrated the Autobot's defence. The shuttle refused to surrender to such simple hindrance and twisted himself to the side, only barely, so that his course was not too severely changed but still enough to avoid collision. The black-purple F-15, now passed, was dogging Skyfire's afterburners but the purposely random movements made it impossible to aim at the shuttle when the Seeker had exhausted his arms of guided missiles. He opened fires with his machine-guns – the bullets bounced of the enhanced white plating without leaving so much as a paint scratch but kept on shooting, knowing that if enough distraction was provided Skyfire could be lured into failure. It was in such times that the Autobot wished that Powerglide was here – at least there was one Decepticon for each of them – but the other Autobot-plane was still on the way back, perhaps hundreds of megamiles away, leaving him undeniably alone in this fight.

He was closing in, though; Thundercracker's jet-form was soon more definable as Skyfire cut the gap between them. No longer was he a mere outline in the dark; he could see the tips of his wings, what few missiles – unguided ones – attached underneath them, ready to be unleashed on the Ark, if only he could get within range. Skyfire pushed himself like never before, desperate to reach the Decepticon jet before it was too late – and his efforts came to look like promising. Thundercracker was even closer now, close enough to be affected by his lasers if hit at the right place. The whines of his trinemember's engine became a surreal thing as his vision was locked on the one in front of him – all else did not matter, even his incoming pain if Skywarp's aim proved to be true, and his only concern was to put a stop in Thundercracker's advance before it was too late. Skyfire's twin guns reeled even further out from their housing, preparing themselves for precision shot, awaiting only the shuttle's silent execution to fire –

– And stopped himself before the power could be unleashed on the blue-white jet. With his camera he could make out a growing shadow of someone inside the Ark, and his auditory perceptions confirmed that whoever he was, he was running to the outside. Dread clutched the shuttle's systems. He was so close to firing, and Thundercracker too – if any of them missed their targets, the person stood a good chance of being hurt. What made it worse was that the Decepticon did not seem to care – whether missing his aim or not, it was a win-win situation for Thundercracker. Skyfire's CPUs, choked with hundreds of courses of actions, each one seemed impractical as the other, was reduced to the primal instinct to yell. His voice came booming out from his speaker, magnified tenfold from its usual volume in his urgency and terror, "Go back! There's a Decepticon –"

_Coming in your way_ was cut short by almost paralyzing shock as his visual feeds registered the identity of the mech that had came running out of the gaping entrance. Blue-white arms were raised high above his helm, as black as coal, to attract attentions, mouth components shouting words that sounded unintelligible in Skyfire's astonishment. Thruster-heels clacked against the metal floor of the Ark as the owner dashed forward, throwing the white wings in sharp relief as he passed the lights lining the inside of the spaceship. Skyfire was snapped out of his daze by Thundercracker's sharp pull out of his dive, suddenly emptying the field of vision before him so that the only individual that seemingly existed was Starscream. And his words, high and shrilly and fear-stricken, suddenly pierced the shuttle's audios: "No, Skyfire – DON'T!"

But Skyfire was left with little choice to oblige.

_**xxxxx**_

Finding his null-rays had taken a good three kliks, and installing them took an extra one; his servos were shaking quite badly, a result of combining under-energizing and his scattered mental state. But fortunately, he had not stumble –or being stumbled – upon any wandering Autobot as he worked to find his weapons. Not even the damned Wicketity (or something close to that) fleshlings were in sight. The sound that knocked on the interiors of the Ark had been carried by the wind from somewhere outside, and it was the cacophony of battles that his audios had been finely tuned to detect. There was no doubt of the attempted rescuing of his person carried out there, the only question remaining was whether they would succeed or otherwise. Thinking of it filled his Spark with a strange, conflicting emotions; it proved that Megatron was still unwilling to give him up although Primus knew just how many thousands of time he had tried to backstab his Supreme Commander, and for that, he sincerely hoped that Decepticons would prevail. But...there was also Skyfire. Calm and normally difficult to arouse into action, the shuttle would not just sit there watching his comrades being pummelled around, even with his passivity. And with the Autobots defeated, Megatron would be Pit-bent to have his cruel ways with the mech that had dared to betray him. And _that_ made Starscream just as hopeful for his enemy's survival, a poisoning wish that the Seeker despised despite the circumstances.

"For Pit's sake!" Starscream cursed through his gritted dentas, suddenly annoyed by the slightest of things like the stuck door of the brig. The loss of power rendered the magnetic door inoperable, but the weight itself made it difficult to budge. He kicked at it, punched at it, and even attempted to ram into it with his shoulder-strut, and the only difference he made was a creaky sound and a slight opening that allowed only two digits to pass. Huffing now, Starscream pointed his null-rays, were now secured to his upper arm-struts, and fired at the thick metal of the door and thankfully, it melted. Only slightly, but there was at least more encouraging progress than before. He continued the deeds, and before long, a hole only wide enough for his girth had been burnt through, its liquefied edges smoking before hardening as the heat dissipated. Feeling slightly ridiculous to find himself squeezing his chassis through the newly-made entrance, Starscream grunted and twisted to free himself from it, wings tucked flat to his back all the while, managing to scrape paints from his chassis by the time he had wriggled out of it.

What waited him on the other side were seemingly endless corridors that twisted and turned, branched away and joined into– and Starscream had no idea which one it was that would lead him outside. Still, a good chance was that it had to be the main corridor, so the Seeker set himself on the biggest hallway. He walked – almost tip-toed – with carefulness that his pede-steps were barely audible, but it soon became clear that there was no real need for stealth; he encountered no Autobots along the way, not even hearing the signs of their presences, as if the Ark was a structure long ago-abandoned. The prospect did not calm him, though. The mounting expectation that he would soon run into someone – even their fleshling pets – put him at the very edge of self-control. Once or twice he heard pede-falls from behind and whirled around, gritted dentas showing in an ugly snarl, arm-struts poised in firing position – only to find that his adversary was nothing more than his paranoia. He had walked and walked and walked, until at last he heard voices, real voices that did not come from outside, and had stopped like a titanium moosebot caught in the headlights. They had not sounded near, but the echoes themselves told that the speakers were somewhere inside. He strained his audio detection ability and identified the voice of Wheeljack the mad inventor, the high-strung Security Director Red Alert and...a human, it seemed, because of its lower volume, and the absence of electronic quality in it – no matter how humanly a Transformer sounded, there would always be that stamp of his robotic species in his voice, no matter how slight that one needed superior hearing to be able to detect it. Starscream's CPU processed the location of the voices and the direction that the corridor was taking – and concluded that he would have to pass them on his way outside. The jet-former swallowed an imaginary object down his fuel line, now afraid that he would fail after coming so close to succeeding, and proceeded forward. There was a gap in the corridor's left-side wall some twenty mega-metre before him, the entrance to the Ark's Command Deck, and of which the voices seemed to come from. Starscream battled with himself whether or not to risk a look and decided that yes, he could take a peek for surveillance purpose and crept towards it – more or less. It turned out that all of them had their backs turned to him, even the human, who turned out to be the boy in the moving chair. For a split astrosecond, desire, shaped by his training and principle, rose in him – it would be so easy to leap out of his hiding and killed them. They would be alerted, but there would be no time to react before his null-rays would shut down their systems, preparing them for final, absolute deactivation. All he had to do was jump and aim...

...No. This was already as risky as it could get without some additional macho moves. To Pit with inflicting casualties; he himself was about to get a good deal of it himself if made the wrong call. So it was that he crept past the gap, his Spark itching to shoot the living daylight out of the Autobot's activation but was unable to, and rushed as silently as he could towards the pinprick of darkness at the end of the light-lined hallway – the night sky of outside world. His metallic pedes created echoes in the place but Starscream doubted that the Autobots would pay it much mind, if at all – the outside noises would disguise his departure. Before long, he was running towards it, ready to embrace again the comfort of flight, his wings twitching in the thought to be caressed by the wind once more – and was caught by surprise at the sound his audios were hearing.

It was a noise that only a jet engine could make. Only in this case, there was not only one; the first that he heard was rumbling, and audio-achingly noisy. The second one was just as loud, though less rough-sounding. And apart from these two, Starscream recognized another note; a high-pitched whine that no mechanism that the humankind had ever created could produce, one that was designed to travel cosmic distances but was hampered for planetary flights. And to his horror, Starscream recognized all three owners of the noise-makers – and had a good idea what had transpired. His first reaction was establish contact – to order or warn or Pit, even plea, he was still not so sure – but was confused as total silence met his communication channel. It was not that no one was answering; there was simply no link that he could establish, and suddenly, it hit him. It was the very reason the spy-nanobot was needed to liaise with him, that his channel was cancelled the moment he was put in the Autobot's custody to prevent Starscream from doing exactly what he was attempting to now. _No_, Starscream thought desperately as the engines sounded ever closer, _Pit-dammit, NO!_ But his vocalizers seemed to have gone haywire at that point; no sound came off, only panic-laced statics. Why was he so afraid? _Because I'm about to be blasted to bits if TC or 'Warp strafed this place_, his processors produced the answer immediately, one that settled well with his cube of energon. He was positively sprinting now, long legs swinging as far as they could to cover the most distance that they could. In his CPU, he could already imagining his wingmates speeding towards the Ark, their missiles locked and loaded with Skyfire pursuing behind them –

– And suddenly, he was outside. He had not remembered when his arms had gained the autonomous control to wave his servos above his helm, or when his mouth had started to function again, shouting words that sounded oddly distant to his audios. He was not even exactly aware of these, as if a person detached from his own body and watching the whole proceedings from the sideline. What he was horribly aware was the view that his optics were feeding on; Thundercracker streaking right towards him, Skyfire chasing behind, who was himself the target of Skywarp's aim. Realization suddenly dawned on Starscream, of the source of fear he had been experiencing. It _was _because of his continued existence, but only partly. The other half was for his trinemates, and not the least, Skyfire. No matter who wins...someone would be lost.

"No, Skyfire – DON'T!"

They were the first words Starscream heard clearly since realizing the magnitude of the circumstance – and it was Skyfire's name he had called out because of his power, his position to kill his trinemate. His arms continued to wave around frantically, signalling them to back out, leave, abandon target...and for a few critical nanokliks, it seemed that Thundercracker paid no heed to his more-like-pleading command. Then, the blue-white F-I5 pulled out of his dive in an angle so steep it made starscream cringed inwardly by merely watching it. Being a master at flight himself, he knew what kind of strain Thundercracker's engine was undergoing while struggling to push a large mass in totally different direction after cruising at high speed before. He succeeded in doing so, clambering skywards like being catapulted and was soon visibly reduced from a fighter jet to a mere speckle in the dark sky. Starscream allowed himself an intake of relief...before realizing that Skyfire too, was heading for a headlong collision. There was more distance separating the shuttle from himself than there was between him and Thundercracker, but his larger mass carried a lot more inertia and a lot more potential for disaster.

No scream was left in his vocalize despite having a designation that contained just that; the horror or deactivation in a ball of flame was too much, and it was not only himself he was thinking. Skyfire had fired his thrusters in reverse and extended his wing flaps, his trajectory now angled slightly to the left to add more metres before the catastrophe – but he could not divert himself anymore because of his speed and weight. He was still too fast for landing, his pursuit of Thundercracker before had stolen away his carefulness, leaving only a single-minded determination to stop the Decepticon. Starscream could already envision the inevitable crash, of Skyfire's cockpit crumpling upon impact before a mighty explosion blasted him to pieces and cursed himself for his inability. Then, a miracle happened as Skyfire's fast-processing CPU came up with a solution; convinced that a crash landing was inevitable, Skyfire had partially transformed himself to become something that might had passed for a mechanical equivalent of a merman, albeit in reverse order. His frontquarter retained the appearance of a shuttle but his afterburners had gone, having transformed to their main configuration as a bot's pedes. His descent continued at a quicker rate now that he had lost his alternate mode's aerodynamic curves but he was readier to receive the impact in this half-half form.

The ground received the half-shuttle with tremendous shake. The pedes dug into the soil feverishly but were unable to get a steady footing, thrown out of balance by the sudden landing, creating long, twin trenches in his wake. Still, Skyfire deserved credits for having manoeuvred himself so that the only danger Starscream was in was to be pelted by the small stone and sand he had kicked up during the impact. Skyfire eventually came to a very dust-covered halt and was turning himself around for re-launch – his pedes were in position to kick him off the ground, where transformation back to full shuttle mode would take place airborne – when Starscream was shocked for the second time in less than a klik. In his amazement at seeing his trinemembers and equally-dear friend engaging in such brutal combats, he had completely forgotten the existence of Skywarp; the black-purple jet had in fact slowed down so he would not end up crushed against Skyfire but his firing system had not been deactivated. Swooping in close to Skyfire, who was still dazed by the experience, he let loose a set of missiles – his last ones – and snapped into a steep climb, getting clear out of the explosion that would come. The shuttle saw the incoming danger and reverted back to his root-mode, intending to avoid it – his vehicular mode lacked the manoeuvrability in such closed space – but he was too late. The missiles detonated upon impact in a ball of flame, right on Skyfire's chest-piece.

Having known Skyfire after all these time, Starscream had identified the shuttle's tendency to keep quiet about his feelings – but his current voicelessness was anything but natural. His mouth components seemed frozen in eternal gape and by looks, an audio-splitting scream should had come out of it; it was not so. Skyfire suffered his agony in silence as a hole created by the missiles revealed broken circuitries and energon-dripping internals. The Seeker was forced to watch helplessly at the Autobot flyer thrashing about, legs kicking the ground in useless attempt to rid himself of the torture. His servos groped around the wound as if trying to pull out the offensive objects, but there were nothing for him to hold – the missiles had shredded themselves and the splinters had been embedded into his exposed circuitries. A few of them had hit critical nerve clusters, hence his pain – and debris as big as his thumb that had sliced the tubings of his neck-cables had incapacitated his vocalizing capability. For a few astroseconds, the thought of freedom was completely wiped out of Starscream's consciousness. There were no Autobots to bar his escape, no chains to keep him where he was – it was the sight of the mech who was supposedly to be his enemy, squirming for all it was worth, faceplates contorting pitifully at the pain that anchored him to the spot. Then, in a rumbling of his turbines, Skywarp returned, passing only close enough to shout, "Why the frag are you standing there? Get your aft moving!"

Mildly angered by the choice of words and yet realizing that it was the tension of the situation which had rendered his vocalizer unbridled, Starscream was suddenly brought to the reality. Apparently, Skyfire's damage had not extended to his audio systems for his optics flared all the more brightly at Skywarp's urge. In that instant, the shuttle's emotions were also Starscream's; a nightmare that he had so long ago tried to escape, one that left his recharge disturbed and his activation incomplete, was now forcing itself unto the Seeker to be relived once more. There was no blizzard that pulled his friend away from him, but just as strong a force was calling his presence now, calling him to leave the Autobot flyer. There was no one to hinder his flight and his trinemates were waiting to join him; he must leave, and the shuttle had to stay; he was a Decepticon and Skyfire was an Autobot. If there was a time to claim his freedom, it was now.

"Screamer!"

Skywarp had made a second pass by now. His voice grew almost Starscream-like shrilly upon summoning his trineleader. The latter looked up and felt a tug on his Spark. A crossroad had been presented for him to choose, and this time –

"I have chosen my path, Skyfire," Starscream's helm turned in the shuttle's direction; every word that came out was a pain in its own way, a thorn that tore at his Spark with each syllable, "And it's too late now to turn back."

Starscream seized the offered opportunity then but a part of him withered as his activated thrusters propelled him skywards. There was no strength left in him to meet the white mech's optics as his form took on the shape of his alt-mode, changing to a tricoloured F-15 in midair, knowing somehow that only disappointment would be reflected in those pools of blue light. Even as Thundercracker and Skywarp came from the sides to join his flight, the memory of Skyfire's hopeful optics remained burnt in his processors forever, made all the more venomous by the knowledge that he had let the shuttle down.

_**xxxxx**_

Battle-axes and Morningstar clashed with deafening echoes all the while the battle between the leaders continued. Optimus Prime was still able to stand erect despite his exhaustion – Primus knew how he managed it – and was swinging his weapon around, creating defensive arcs around him. Megatron's Morningstar knew just as much fear as the owner did, though, and it was thrust into the safe perimeter with increasingly successful results. From dents to nicks to broken armours, Optimus sported various combinations of those on his chassis; Megatron's was scarred here and there and some platings were beaten out of shape but anyone watching could tell that he was faring better under the circumstances. Truth to be told, the Decepticon could already taste the sweetness of victory after being in somewhat stalemate with his arch-enemy. Twirling his body like some strange, ungainly ballerina to add extra momentum to his hits, Megatron landed heavy blows on the Autobot's armours, aiming for the helm but missed it when the Prime threw himself to the side.

"Your time's over, Prime!" He gloated, relishing Optimus's pained hiss as the dented windshields of his chest-piece were crumpled together, putting pressure on his sensitive receptors there.

"Over my deactivated chassis!" The Prime countered, wiping energon blood from the corners of his mouth as he said these. Grimly, he was quite aware that his challenge had a good chance of being answered...

Megatron's reaction was to snicker and to grin at the same time, resulting in an expression that was creepy even through the truck-former's optics. Both mechs collected themselves for the next round (second, third...even the participants had lost count of it) with arms raised to deal the next blow – Megatron had already made up that this would be the final round before the Prime's head would be decapitated when a comm. link signal knocked on his channel. Fortunately, his experiences and his own unflinching nature managed to keep him from being too distracted, charging at his enemy while his silent voice snarled:

::Thundercracker! Give me good news or you'll be walking with your wings stuck up your aft!::

::Lord Megatron, sir,:: The tone was fearful and hinting of the owner's unspoken apology,::We have rescued Starscream. He is now flying with us.::

That certainly did earn the jet his forgiveness; his systems were overrun with joy unexplainable by mere words, more addictive than the sense of power he held above his defeated enemies, a euphoria so great that Megatron felt heat rose in his circuitries from his excitement. However, the shock upon hearing it had cost Megatron. He lost his attacking rhythm while his CPU processed the information, a flaw that the Prime was too clever to ignore. The gun-former was struck down by a punch to his abdominal plating, causing him to lurch backward and only barely preventing himself from falling. The pinpricks of pain lingered long after Optimus had drew back his servo, providing an unhelpful distraction when he was so close to winning.

::Orders, Lord Megatron?::

In the haze of pain and rage, Megatron had neglected to issue the next command; Thundercracker's inquiry, carefully made in a small, timid voice, had brought the fact back to the warlord's faceplates. Imagining the proud Optimus in chains and struggling helplessly while he himself administered tortures cured his blind wrath before it could completely overwhelm him. Grinning again that sadistic smile – one that the Prime had seen on far too many occasions – Megatron was about to reply _Press on the attack_ when a subtle tremor travelled through the ground beneath his pedes. It had already sent bad expectation to the Decepticon even though he was as much aware of the goings as his troop – completing his trepidation was the light of hope, of power, being rekindled in the Autobot leader's optics, which only astroseconds ago had been dimmed by his crushed spirit and weakened systems.

"Last chance to run, Megatron."

The gun-former could almost swear hearing a hint of smirk in the truck's deep voice and was puzzled by it. Certainly he could see that the Autobots were losing? Or was there –

It hit him with the subtlety of sledgehammer; Optimus and his sorry band was losing but mighty as the Decepticons were, none of them could stand the rounds thrown out by the perimeter's turrets, each projectile burning to as high as 5000 degree Celsius upon impact. The trembling of the land – and the newly-following rumbles of turning gears were shouting of the nanobot's failure to keep the defence systems crippled. Megatron spared his enemy a nanoklik to give him his fiery gaze before shouting to through the Decepticon's public channel as well as his audio-detectable voice, "Decepticons, RETREAT!"

Megatron hated it that the words were once again forced out of his mouth, hated it even more at the sight of his soldiers seemingly too relieved to comply the order. If it was not for his critical-thinking processors, his lust for Prime's energon blood would have made him stay and fight until all the Autobots were wiped out of existence; it was the sight of Starscream, flanked by Thundercracker and Skywarp, now free again from the enemy's grasp that moved him from the spot. It would be one Pit of time-wasting if the Seeker got out in one astrosecond but they were all dead in the next. His energon blood boiling in his tubing for what he was compelled to do, an anger that he partially unleashed by giving one last swing of his Morningstar which missed Optimus's Spark chamber by a digit's breadth but still crushing the side so severely that the internals were exposed, showing broken wires and sparking circuitries. The Autobot leader was momentarily crippled by pain as well as shock, forcing him to his knee-bearings while Megatron kicked himself into the air. His anti-gravity systems came to life and the Decepticon overlord was speeding away from the perimeter in no time, following after his already retreating soldiers back to their home base.

The Earth shook again and this time, square sections on the ground, seemingly haphazardly-placed but were in actuality carefully planned out, moved over to reveal Transformer-sized holes. From within each, a platform rose in the whirls of gears and upon them were placed a formidable-looking defensive turret that Wheeljack and Red Alert had been working so feverishly to get online. Their enemy-detecting systems recognized the fleeing signals of the Decepticons immediately and set their targeting mechanisms on them. The _clack-clack-clack_ sounds that signified the bullet-filling echoed ominously around the area – providing the Decepticons further motivation to leave – and from the muzzles, out came the bullets, 500 rounds every nanoklik, seeking victims to punch holes through. It was quite fortunate then, that Megatron and his troop were already nearing the border of the Autobot's safe zone. A few got through unharmed but the leader himself was hit by a few of the projectiles, melting his armours at the point of contact and shooting pain signals to his CPU. Dentas screeched as Megatron gritted them together; the sole of his pede and a portion of his thigh-plating were damaged but it was nothing that he couldn't handle. What occupied his processors more strongly than his hurt was the fact that Starscream was with him again, as real as the other Decepticons around him and not some illusion fed by the memory drive.

_**xxxxx**_

Optimus gained his footing as quickly as he could but his long-standing enemy was already out of his laser's reach by the time he had harness back his stability. All around him, the turrets emerged from their underground chambers like plants' shoots sprouting after the desert's first rain, throwing forth their bullets in flashes of explosions that made them looked like some strange flashing-flower plants. With his zoomed-in optics, the Prime could make out the few individuals that received the projectiles – their flight pattern became erratic for a few astroseconds – and took a little satisfaction when he saw that one of them was Megatron.

"We can't let 'em 'scape!" Ironhide shouted above the ruckus created by the cheerily-shouting Autobots. "Ahm goin' after those pieces of slag!"

"No," Optimus said quickly. His voice was hardly tense-filled but there was sternness in it that never failed to fish the others' attentions. "Let them go. We have suffered considerably ourselves." He gestured to individuals around him and Ironhide's optics followed his pointing digits.

Consumed in the chaos the war had offered, Ironhide had not the chance to properly look around except for searching the Decepticons until now. His comrades were all functioning, thank goodness, but a few had been downed and others had their armours burnt, dented, peeled and slashed, and not a few were covered in energon blood, their enemies' as well as their own. Come to think of it, he was not far better himself; parts of his chassis were blackened by lasers and dented by blows. Not to mention the temporary patch that Ratchet had done before was partially peeled open. Chasing the Decepticons in their current conditions would yield the same result as throwing themselves into the sun's core. "Awh, slag." But the old warrior did not move from his spot, instead transforming back the nozzles at the end of his arms into servos.

The defensive turrets had stopped firing by now with the enemies now out of their range but they had not retreated back to their chambers – protocols dictated that they would remain vigilant for the next few joors. Silence dropped from the sky like a heavy blanket after the instinctive cheering had been exhausted but the moans and groans of pain from the wounded refused to be muffled in an otherwise soundless landscape. In a sense, the noises were better than total, complete stillness. It was a reminder that all had not been lost despite the near-defeat of this orn's battle, that there were still Sparks that survived the messy affairs. He himself needed an appointment with Ratchet after the medic was done with the more seriously-damaged mechs – his crushed chest-piece was oozing energon where the armours had been split open. Trying to ignore his own pain and succeeding to a small degree, the Autobot leader drew his attention to his comrades, seeking for something that he dreaded – bodies beyond repair or Spark-empty chamber, for instances – and was gladdened that he found none. Sure, Prowl, who suffered the heaviest injury, required assistance to even stand but at least he was not –

"We have a mech down!" Somebody shouted, breaking the peacefulness of an after-battle...and Optimus's systems ran cold with dread. It turned out that the danger had not passed yet for a certain someone.

Ratchet might not be an active attacker in any battle but he was always a participant in some way or another. Flitting through wrestling, shooting mechs in both his robotic body and ambulance form, he reached the wounded one by one to give them whatever that they needed to the best of his ability. Now that the fight was over, he was no longer under threat of being fired upon but his running to one soldier to another hardly slowed down. He remembered patching up Prowl, then running past Smokescreen to get to Brawn to fix his servo, then at Tracks...then scores of other soldiers in relentless succession as the tolls of war increased. Currently, the 'bot whose knee-bearings he plied back into position was Windcharger – he was told that this was a token from Soundwave who had threw the minibot into a pile of rocks after the Trans-Am charged at him. In normal circumstances, the CMO would have frowned at Windcharger's approach but his actions had saved Bumblebee from much worse fate, hence his silence on the matter.

The medic had thought that his field duty was complete after he was done with Windcharger – the rest, more thorough restorations would have to be done in the med-bay – but the bellowing voice that had caught Optimus's attention had also ensnared Ratchet's, along the others'. The same dread that had flowed in his leader's circuitries had miraculously infected the Chief Medic in an instant even though they were being far apart. Naturally, the white-red mech thought of the reckless Twins but he remembered them the next astrosecond – not exactly unscratched but dented armours here and there were hardly worth complaining and certainly did not earn a mech-down status. Inferno came next into his processors; the fire-engine was unbelievably daring-that-bordered-on-suicidal when the heat of the moment caught him but he was even more lightly damaged than the Lamborghinis. Perhaps it was –

All thought processes stopped in the CMO's CPU when his optics followed the lead of Hound's – who turned out to be the alert-shouter – pointing digits. What he glimpsed was the shine of white in the greyness of thinning smoke near the Ark's entrance. Suddenly, the complete lack of flying mech in the sky came to him, chilling further the dread that had already frozen his internals.

_No, not him, please not him..._

But the white figure that lay unmoving there was too large to be any of the Autobot save for Skyfire, nor was there any other similar-coloured mech that had been accounted for.

Ratchet was moving in something akin to autopilot; his CPU was numb as his chassis changed to his ambulance form. His engine roared like never before and his wheels rolled, going through bumps and dips with equal speed as he would a tarmac road. His undercarriage screamed to him because of the abuses it was forced through but his Spark was screaming too, urging him to go faster, faster damn it, faster, let his tyres explode but please don't let it be too late by the time he reached the shuttle-former. The collective rumbles of engines from his fellow Autobots sounded merely like distant humming to his audios which were filled with his own silent voice praying that he would arrive in time. Questions crammed into his cranial plating like physical things – Skyfire's involvement in battles were rarely ended in a trip to the med-bay and he himself was an uncommon participant in a mission. Why was he damaged now, and so severely at that there was not even a movement detected by his optics?

_It's Starscream, _something within him whispered, _that glitch had betrayed him after all Skyfire had done. That wretch._

Ratchet's traversing of the distance spanning the battle site and the Ark lasted less than two kliks but for all its brevity, the medic felt like joors had gone by. They said that time flies when good things happen – and to his chagrin, time did not run the same way when misfortune befell. He was much nearer now though and the CMO saw with his lenses that Skyfire _did_ move after all albeit in shuddery jerks.

_Thank Primus, he's functioning!_

But the wrongness of Skyfire's conditions was made evident when Ratchet transformed back into his bipedal mode. What he perceived as limb-jerking was in fact Skyfire's pitiful attempt at writhing – and it would suddenly end in painful-looking arch of his spinal strut before his chassis would return to its former shaking. The cycle was repeated again and again until the medic realized what was happening; the shuttle-former was in fact trying to disconnect his processors from receiving pain signals from his wound site but there was just so overwhelmingly many and he was getting too weak to control his own systems. Every time he failed, the collective pain signals bombarded his processors until the agony Skyfire was experiencing was ten times than what it should have been – and yet, the primal urge to shut off his sensory perceptions were too great that the same mistakes were repeated until the flyer was too deprived to even continue his struggle.

"Skyfire!" Ratchet was surprised that his voice cracked more than he usually allow. The Autobot flyer's helm turned ever so slowly to the source of his name – and the optics lit up with hope and desperate plea to end his suffering. The medic nearly threw himself towards the wounded flyer, in all sense at the edge of breaking himself to see the charred marks on his chest-piece and the gruesomely clear circuitries within. Only just enough self-control prevented him from such foolishness so that he came to kneel beside the shuddering mech instead. One servo stroked the cheek-plating that was turned towards him to soothe the distressed mech and he was replied with Skyfire's own servo rising up to grasp at Ratchet's lower arm-strut.

"You'll be alright," the medic said. It was a word usually uttered to calm the injured – there was an almost-mystical power within it that improve the desire to survive – but Ratchet bitterly realized how shaky he himself sounded. No one would be eased by such unconvincing intonation.

The shuttle's grasp became a brief, gentle squeeze before the hand dropped to the side in exhaustion. Skyfire's tired gaze met Ratchet's and within them there was a completeness of trust that unnerved the Chief Medic. Through the grimace from his pain, Skyfire still managed a small smile only long enough for the smaller mech to register before the dentas were back to gritting themselves. By this time, the other Autobots had come to congregate around the damaged shuttle-former, their worried voices tugging Ratchet back to realization of what needed to be done. His cheek-stroking servo had left its place to hover above the side of Skyfire's helm, just below his audial covering. A light touch prompted an almost invisible panel to open, revealing a small medical port within. Into this, Ratchet inserted a plug transformed from his own index digit – and Skyfire's body gave a final tensing before dropping back to the Earth. The blue optics retained their looks of faith even as the lights winked out; the shuttle had obediently answered Ratchet's silent call to retreat into the merciful darkness of stasis lock.


	20. Chapter 20

As the old night began to slip behind the light of dawn, the Megatron-led team was still airborne above the expanse of Atlantic Ocean. The roiling waves below mirrored the turbulence now filling the Decepticon leader's systems, hence his general silence despite their frustratingly near-win-but-failure-at-the-last-moment battle with the Autobots. His efforts to gather his thought processes into more systematic arrangements were further foiled by the energon-shedding injury on his left pede – a departure gift from the Autobot's ground-based defensive turrets. While he had overrode the basic protocols and cancelled the pain signals threatening to torture him, his systems were equally strained to keep up with the efforts – He just hoped that he would already be in the med-bay or his living quarters by the time he succumbed to the agony. Perhaps conceiving Megatron's need for quietness, none of his underlings made noises except for the occasional groans of discomfort or pain that could not be helped. Their voices put distress in Megatron's CPU for it reminded the warlord of the forthcoming repairs required before his troops would be of any use to offend the Autobots. The only relief was that knowing the enemies were just as equally spent, if not more, than his own mechs.

And the greatest saving grace to their fragged-up operation? It was Starscream's return, of course, no matter how much Megatron would like to deny his joy at reclaiming the Seeker back into his army. Though there was no denying of the fact to Soundwave – the feelings were too plain to be hidden from his sixth sense even though Megatron had not actively shoved the thoughts into the communication expert's processors – but from others, he restrained his faceplates from showing it. However, pushing out his concern about Soundwave's knowledge of his emotions made room for uninvited jostling from the memory drive, silently yet persistently demanding attention from the warlord, prickling its imaginary needles into his cranial plating until he felt like hitting his own helm, an act that he still did not execute due the high likelihood of being disbelievingly stared at. Worsening the situation was the fact that Megatron himself was his own worst enemy – his will had been crumbled by his curiousity to know, to learn more. What had he missed in his ignorance? Was there anything that he should have known, anything that Starscream would rather keep hidden from his knowledge? Even with the emotional attachment aside, the capture of Starscream was disastrous to the Decepticon because of the seats he held – as Second-In-Command and the Air commander simultaneously. Important information was imparted to the Seeker, traitorous bastard as he was though, because Starscream was required to know all those things to perform. What if the dastardly glitch had spilled out top-secret information during his imprisonment?

As his inquisitiveness grew and being constantly reminded of Starscream's strange emotional fluctuations during his captive period, Megatron thought that perhaps...perhaps he should give the memory drive one last chance at serving him – to tell him knowledge that he had initially chose to let pass. That would be in the-things-to-do-later list, though; Megatron's taxed systems demanded rest and he was made impatient by the sight of Nemesis landing tower rising up in the distance from among the waves, waiting for his arrival to carry him back to comfort.

_**xxxxx**_

There was an indescribable sense of rightness when Starscream found himself flying inbetween his trinemates, almost wing-tip to wing-tip. In their alt-modes, no faces were available to display their expressions upon but their Trine bond was just as informative, quiet relief and barely hidden delight travelling back and forth through the link. However, even his wing-brothers' presences could not heal the wound he had self-inflicted upon his Spark, a hole that refused to seal, bored open by the act of his own treachery. That part of his sorrow was carefully hidden behind his joy at the reunion but to himself, there was no lying of the potency of this hurt.

Having established himself quite firmly as a backstabber, whether by accidents or designs, Starscream would never have imagined that the hurt he caused to skyfire would pain him just as much. Honestly speaking, though it was a conversation he would only have with his conscience, he never wished for the Sparkbreaking experience to repeat – in fact, he even dared hoping that perhaps Skyfire would return to the Decepticon faction, even going as far as considering begging on his knee-bearings if that was required of him to soften Megatron's Spark. However, after this orn's battle, the shuttle had made clear that there would be no deviating from his course...and unless the war ceased for some miraculous reasons, there remained only one way for them to stay united – and that single option he could never choose for it would mean trading all these vorns climbing the Decepticon hierarchy for an uncertain future siding with the Autobots. With Skyfire's recent unwillingness for intimacy, that notion degraded from fleetingly thought of to not worth considering altogether. The dreams he had once nurtured – of a future with the shuttle-former – just had to go, but there would be no forgetting of Skyfire's kind deeds when others would only gave him hateful stares, nor of the few kisses and tender moments shared in their brief times together.

When Starscream saw the dark outline of Nemesis landing tower in the distance, a sense of foreboding caught at his Spark which intermingled most peculiarly with delight. Going back into the ocean-bound spaceship, the Seeker would be under the mercy of Lord Megatron once again, which was not exactly a happy thought but the feeling of finally returning home was just as strong. Well, at least the comfort from his Trine was an assured thing even if his leader's pleasure was not – though the comfort-exchanging with Thundercracker and Skywarp would have to be done out of prying optics whose owners were just too happy to report his flaws to their Supreme Commander. He and his Trine was the last to land; by the time they did, the others were silently filing into the turbo-lift and started their scheduled groaning once inside, as narrowness of space further pushing whatever patience they still had left to near-zero. The Seekers were forced to wait as their comrades took their turns before they could do so – and when they did, all of the others were already back inside the Nemesis, leaving the turbo-lift for only themselves to fill.

Naturally, it was Skywarp who was impatient to fill out the silence but only "Hey, Screamer –" managed to get out of his vocalizer when Starscream held up his servo.

"Before you ask, 'Warp; Yes, these are a new set of wings; No, I don't know why they do such stupid slag; and no, the Decepticon branding will have to wait for tomorrow. I'm just too fragging tired tonight." The answer was flawless and remarkably, without any sting in it; it was simply that Starscream could anticipate what kind of questions would be asked of him.

Skywarp gave that goofy grin he always did whenever Starscream's snarkiness resurfaced; Thundercracker merely snickered. Then, one of his servos was dropped gently on Starscream's shoulder-strut. The jet-former turned and raised an optic ridge, puzzled.

"Glad you're still functioning, Screamer," The blue-white Seeker said; his voice was toneless and rough but the optics were bright, an expression of genuine delight.

"The name's Starscream; honestly, get the name right for once," Starscream snapped, though at the end of it his characteristic shrill of a laugh's beginning started to seep in.

The turbo-lift soon came to a stop and the door swept open, revealing the views of the Decepticons' backs leaving for the either the mess hall, their living quarters or the med-bay, with those opting for the latter hoping fervently that Hook was already in there somewhere. At first, Starscream thought of himself belonging to the second group until he realized of the loose null-rays that he had hastily attached to his arm-struts, a painfully rudimentary work by the Seeker's standard. It would have appeared vain to the optics of the others had they known it, and it was partially the reason Starscream delayed rest to prioritize his perfection, but more to it was Starscream's sense of vulnerability when he and the null-rays were parted, or even hastily installed; the weapons were his precious creations, parts of his being for countless vorns throughout the war that saved his activation too many times that he cared to count. Hook, who was himself involved in an entirely different battle somewhere else – as his Trinemates informed him – might still be under way to Nemesis, and even if he arrived, he would probably be too injured or tired to treat anyone tonight; however, Starscream was more than qualified for such simple task, having himself the knowledge to install and operate much more advanced weaponries. All he needed to mend the less-than-perfect null-rays were equipment that Hook kept and the rest he could handle himself.

"Uh…Screamer? Your room's this way," Skywarp's voice floated to his audios as he turned for a different hallway than his Trinemates'.

"Yes, I know," Starscream said with an annoyed flick of his wings – accidentally finding out how he missed being able to gesture with the flying appendages in the process – and continued, "But the med-bay is not that way. And that's where I'm going."

Perceiving the hints and unwilling to irate their wing leader any more than necessary, Thundercracker pulled at a seemingly confused Skywarp down the corridor which would lead them to their respective living quarters. Truthfully, Starscream was grateful that the blue-white jet had enough insights to get Skywarp away before he could commence with the full scolding – he was never that excellent in the Patient Department. His anger was fuelled by his hunger because the Autobots provided him barely enough energon to only allow his self-repair systems to commence, made all the worse by the journey to Nemesis; under the circumstances, even his Wing-brothers were not entirely safe from him. Both underling jets soon disappeared down the aforementioned path, Skywarp's "But I was just askin'!" echoing faintly even as their outlines became blurry by distance in Starscream's optics.

Starscream's vents exhaled a sigh; the bond with one's Trinemembers was the second most important thing to a Seeker after his wings. Depraved so long from their company, a Bonding Flight would have to take place soon to strengthen back their weakened links after his captivity. Life in the Nemesis was only tolerable because of their presences; Megatron did not contribute in that direction at all, seeing that his treatments to the Seeker seem only to accentuate his inferiority rather than greatness. Having tasted cruelty from his leader in the first place, Starscream knew better than to treat his wingmates with the same unfriendliness, even if that occurred only a few times, but he really couldn't help it; Starscream was more tolerant of his Trine's antics than other Decepticons, but during his worse moods he would treat everyone like nuisances.

"...And I should stop thinking of that Pit-spawned slagger when I'm hungry," Starscream muttered to himself, referring the accursed individual to Megatron; the thought concerning the silver mech always brought pain to him in one way or another. In discouraging state, doing so would only make Starscream's conditions worse than before – which was why, as he headed for med-bay alone, the tricoloured jet-former tried his hardest to purge the Decepticon leader from his processors, an efforts that soon proved to be in vain.

_**xxxxx**_

Usually, immediately after returning from a battle, Megatron would meet with Soundwave (and occasionally, Starscream) for a rough summary of the army's performance. Soundwave was not in perfect shape but his damages were non-threatening enough that he could still answer his normal obligations only this time, the cassette-deck did not have to; Megatron's data-burst had informed him to delay said briefing, leaving the gun-former free to use the time as he would.

Naturally, Megatron chose to recharge. Though he had injured his pede, his nefariously effective self-repair systems (which were attuned to repair much bloodier damages owing to his gladiatorial history) could handle it well enough. If he could help it, Megatron would refuse visiting Hook – his brutal past had taught him to be the tough mech he was and going to medics was sometimes viewed as weakness by the circles of gladiators. It had now become an old habit that refused to be shaken off. Megatron struggled to keep his steps steady but the slight limp inevitably showed nevertheless when he heard the faint echoes of the Command Trinemembers' voices, only now emerging from the turbo-lift. The three jet-formers had radically different tones than one another that it was easy to separate Starscream's from those of Thundercracker and Skywarp. His few words tugged at Megatron's Spark; hearing them with his own audios instead only in his helm was a relief that the leader had never expected to experience before.

As if a sentient object responding to the realization of its uselessness, the memory drive sparked into activation, again forcing Megatron to acknowledge its presence. The mech hissed defiantly, refusing to answer its hypnotic call to open his meta-processors to its transmission just yet. There was no denying of his desire to take a peek but not when he was still unready for the unfolding experience, nor when he was still weak and injured – which meant that tonight had no time space for the memory drive to fill. As the disturbance became more annoying, Megatron denied himself the desire to see Starscream and personally order him to have the Decepticon emblems stamped back onto his wings this very night – or refuel first, if he happened to be under-energized – and stomped off to his living quarter as fast as he could. Soundwave, Rumble, Frenzy, the Seekers and the other Decepticons were soon gone from his optical range; his thoughts of them also faded when the intrusive gadget in his cranial plating increased its activity from annoying to painful level, sharp pricks and distractive buzzing in Megatron's helm driving the leader's patience to the edge by the time he punched the access code to his quarter, entered it, detached his Fusion Cannon from his arm and slammed his exhausted chassis on the inviting berth.

"Slag me," Megatron groaned upon finding out that even rest was impossible with the discomfort now spreading in his circuitries. He tossed about on the berth, trying one recharging posture after next to find the one most suitable to him but none could provide the needed initiation into recharge. He would need more than quietness to enter recharge if this persisted – namely, the overenergizing produced by high-grades. Not even self-executed override codes would be sufficient to get over the memory drive's disturbance. Huffing in annoyance, but unable to find any other solution, Megatron forced himself back to his pedes and made his way towards his personal energon cabinet...and cursed noisily.

"...Frag this," He muttered as the ajar door revealed shelves empty of energon cubes, not even the regular grades. In the mind-consuming planning of Starscream's rescue and his worry to keep his warriors fed, he had neglected to keep his energon cabinet filled, if only partially, and that spoke much of the attention devoted to the Seeker for the warlord rarely allowed his personal stock to dwindle down to uncomfortably low numbers, let alone to have the cabinet completely empty like now. He thought first to contact any of his underlings to bring the intoxicating substance to his private quarter but remembering how groggy and exhausted the Decepticons looked upon arriving at the Nemesis, Megatron thought better of it. Whether fearful of his wrath or no, the tiredness would cause them to tarry for they would definitely gulped down a cube or two first before delivering the stock to his chamber...and Megatron had no intention of waiting, especially with the increasing irritation originating in his head. He was reluctant to leave the privacy of his chamber but the requirement for high grades was a powerful motivation for him so, despite the tiredness and the pain in his pedes, Megatron snatched his Fusion Cannon from the floor and exited his living quarters, his mind bent on the sole destination where energon cubes could be found aplenty; the mess hall.

To his surprise, the hallways along the way were empty of any mech and the same could be said of the mess hall itself. Either his soldiers decided that refuelling could wait until tomorrow or that they had taken their share to their living quarters – whichever it was, Megatron had no qualm about it since it left the refueling place all to himself. There were still high-grade cubes left in the stock alongside the regular ones. He eyed the glowing cubes carefully, his buzzing processors calculating the numbers of them needed to give him his much-desired recharge. Eventually, he retrieved seven cubes of high grades – that much should be enough to disorient his systems to initiate emergency recharge – which was not a very healthy thing to do, by the way, considering that he could be faced with severe hangover-like effects if he broke his recharge while his systems still struggled to flush out the excess energon. However, the serenity and quietness that seemed almost uncharacteristic of the usually noisy mess hall seemed to invite him to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere, if only for a while. The apparent solitary and the prospect of scenery change appealed to the warlord's tired CPU so he decided that he could always stopped refuelling and went back to his chamber when overenergizing started to creep in. He cracked a cube even as he sat down on a seat of his chosen table, the furthest away from the entrance and downed the whole thing in one gulp, for once not bothering to sip it out slowly like he usually did. The coolness that rushed down his main fuel line nearly choked him; the ensuing druggedness outrightly suprised him. Perhaps his rugged systems became more vulnerable to overenergizing when exhausted since one cube of high-grade did not usually caused him much affect. It seemed that he would enter recharge sooner than expected!

The second cube emptied brought to him a disturbing discovery; as his rational thoughts slipped, the memory drive gained increasing dominance over his consciousness. There was no mistaking of Starscream's emotions at the other end of the line, kept at bay from entering the leader's meta-processors only by the sheer will of the latter – and even that became weaker by the moments.

"Fragging glitch," Megatron's muttered curse was slightly slurry, evident enough of his near overenergizing. It would only be a matter of time before the memory drive would have unrestrained access into his CPU...but perhaps he could speed up his disorientation enough to enter recharge before that happened? He wanted to _rest_, NOT to analyze whatever that the memory drive wanted to spill to him!

His third cube was so carelessly cracked open that some of the contents spilled out as he did so, smearing the floor and his thigh-plating with droplets of it. Down the hatch it went and still some more of the energon missed the gaping mouth as it was imbued down the warlord's throat, trickling down his lower jaw. Even then, each drop of high-grade reduced Megatron's conscious control over his systems, physically proved by the returning pain signals that bombarded his neural nets in his injured pedes. However, Megatron _was_ getting more and more inebriated by this reckless consumption...

_A little more...Just a little more..._

Megatron downed his high-grades as if there was no tomorrow; he was racing with the memory drive, competing to see who would win for the control of his systems. He could feel how 'drunken', how close to recharge he was – but the devilish gadget was frighteningly strong too. No longer he cared whether he would be able to make it all the way back to his private chamber and plonked down on his berth to ride out the rest of his overenergized recharge. He lost control of his vocalizer and started to laugh like a madmech, unexplainably giddy and finding himself not the least bothered by his behaviours. Come to think of it now, why was he so desperate to reach unconsciousness his recharge could provide? Megatron felt massively happy eventhough he could not find a realistic source for the emotion – he had no idea of the Constructicons' performance in their energon-delivering mission, Prime and his Autodorks were still functioning and he did not know what had transpired during Starscream's captivity – but all those things could go frag themselves as long as he was amused like now.

The instant Megatron let his guard down, the memory drive sprang its force on his consciousness. A flash of whiteness, blinding in its purity, tore Megatron's own thoughts out of his CPU, leaving a blank space for the gadget to force into his head all the the memories that the warlord had chosen to ignore before. His inebriation was pushed aside as his attention was gathered on the feedbacks given by the memory drive – and it was more than the warlord had bargained for.

_**XxX**_

_A sense of fear flooded into Megatron's circuitries, so alien yet so intense, that for the first time in his activation cycle, Megatron felt like running away...which he would have done already, if not for the fact that his pedes were cuffed together. He soon discovered that his servos were similarly restrained by a tough energy-chain binding them at the wrists, forcing him to hold them high above his helm by the pitifully short length. He felt his body struggled against the bonds – and was surprised that the strength from his chassis seemed...reduced. _

"_...W-why, my lord...?"_

_Megatron could not help but comically gawked at the scene. Impossible as it might sound, the warlord felt his mouth moved on its own accord – and more surprisingly, the voice that came from his vocalizer was not his like his own, but rather as shrilly as Starscream's. In fact, it was EXACTLY as shrilly. _

"_You still did not realize, my little Seeker?"_

_This new voice startled Megatron more than his Starscream-y voice did because it sounded as rough, as commanding, as frightening as his own voice. His vision shifted upwards and to his silent bewilderment, the silver mech that stood before him was...Megatron. The answering pathetic whimper, which he did not even remember ever intending to let out, again reminded him sharply of Starscream...and then, realization hit him on the helm as if being whacked by a massive boulder._

I'm Starscream,_ Megatron tried to say, but the words were only spoken in his cranial plating. It sounded ridiculous, he knew, but seeing his double before him and feeling the terror coursing in his circuitries, which was not what he used to, he was convinced of it. The fact that he could actually feel his 'wings' wiggled in anxiety on his back-plating just consolidated his theory for never in his existence had he been granted the flying appendages. _

_Megatron even noticed where and when this particular scene had taken place; after Starscream's failed alliance with Dr. Arkeville, the warlord had come to realize how dangerously traitorous Starscream could be and had decided that the Seeker must be spied upon more closely than ever – hence his order to Soundwave to have the memory drive created in the first Megatron was experiencing now was in fact the scene when he had dragged his Second down to the brig and restrained him, so that the Seeker's base coding could be programmed into the newly-created memory drive. _

_The warlord knew what would happen, but the Seeker in whose body his consciousness had taken residence did not. The lack of knowledge was translated into ever-escalating fear, infecting even the intruding mind of Megatron, making the jet's urge to scream as his own. The torture, done to weaken Starscream's mental defense, would begin any astrosecond now; he saw his own self in Starscream's vision approaching, closing the distance and making Starscream's Spark pulsed with frantic frequency, the Seeker's body writhing and twisting in his futile effort to escape – _

_**XxX**_

Megatron's return to reality left him dizzy as he was sped through a brilliant tunnel of light and thrust back into his own body with a jerk. His blurry optics took time to clarify the view of the semi-dark mess hall; the phantom of fear lingered eventhough the silver mech had established his location and identity. This particular replay was unexpected for it predated Megatron's usage of the memory drive; perhaps the gadget managed to detect Starscream's memories because they immediately presedes the violation of his base coding. Megatron's further thinking process was interrupted as again, his CPU became disoriented by the new floods of foreign inputs, overwhelming his meta-processors and detaching himself from his surrounding...

_**XxX**_

_The Decepticon overlord's first impulse was to gasp as unusual pain spread from his back-plating – only vaguely aware that the sensations should not be there at all for it had originated from extensions that he never had – the wing-joints. The wings themselves felt stiff, unresponsive; it was as if their sensitivity had decreased since last time..._

_The ex-gladiator's intended gasp never came out; instead, quiet sobs shook and rattled the slender frame of Starscream as he laid on his berth, belly-down. The surroundings were obscured largely by shadows for the lighting was set to the lowest setting but from what little that Megatron could glimpse, it was unfamiliar enough that he deduced it to be the interior of the Air Commander's living quarters. He was currently alone and information from his chronometer indicated that it was night time, a few orns after his abuse at the servos of Megatron himself. The Seeker's memories of the event flowed into Megatron's meta-processors – since then, the jet-former had been repaired by Hook and was pulled out of active duty to allow his self-repair systems to catch up. The humiliation remained burnt in Starscream's CPU, though; the anger, the sorrow it bred stayed as fresh as they had been since the punishments were first meted. _

_The wings tried to flick in a gesture of anger but even that sent pain signals to the tenderized sensor in the wing-joints, causing the Seeker to hiss. The vocalization faded into a tearful whimper, letting out a question without expecting an answer, "Why did you do this to me?"_

_The confusion that accompanied the words were shocking to Megatron; it was partly because of its intensity, but more than that, Megatron did not expect the turbulence felt was disturbingly similar in nature to what he himself experienced. There was hate, but there was also more underneath – a disturbing emotion that was so unlike either Megatron or Starscream as if a snake that had been lying dormant all these while; a chrysalis in which its content had been denied freedom for far too long. _

_Megatron could sense Starscream's internal struggle, fighting the welling of his optical duct from reaching the embarrassing leak. His exhaustion and sorrow combined together was an effective sedative to Starscream who slowly and quietly entered recharge soon after, sparing him the shame in realizing that he had eventually lost the battle and a single tear trickled down his cheek-plating._

_**XxX**_

When the Decepticon leader returned to his body, he was surprised to find new pain wracking his systems, this one coming from his helm. In the confusion of his metaphysical journey, his servos had instinctively gripped the metals with enough force to leave dents, though it was not enough to draw energon blood. Not that it would have made any noticeable difference to the distracted mech; the pain felt was only a temporary thing, quickly forced to the side by memory drive's intruding signals, compelling him to watch even when he vainly offlined his optics out of instinctive drive though his Spark longed reluctantly to soak up the offered knowledge, a wish that the gadget was just too happy to realize.

_**XxX**_

_This newest vision brought a peculiar emotion into Megatron's circuitries. The silver mech was not naive anymore to not notice what the creeping heat signified, or of the Seeker's significantly increased air-cycling. Before him, so very near that Starscream's nasal ridge was only mere Cybertronian inches away, was a faceplate that he hated only next to Optimus Prime. A phantom pressure on the jet's lip-components was slowly fading from sensation, but there was no mistaking of the action that caused it._

"_Is this going to be a routine, Starscream?" Skyfire asked almost breathlessly; the sound of his voice caused hotness that was not lust to wash over Megatron's circuitries. The firm grip on his – Starscream's, to be exact – hips brought a new round of hatred; no one, NO ONE, was allowed to touch HIS Second as intimately as this!_

"_Do you like it?" Starscream's sultry purr was a venom even more potent than the nearness between his Air Commander and this Pit-spawned traitor. He could feel the Seeker's lip-components, which had been kissing an AUTOBOT just now, spreading into a mischievous grin. _

"_...It is pleasing, but I am worried that other Autobots will find out about this."_

Damn you, Skyfire! You have more to worry about when I get my servos on your throat-cables...!_Megatron's silent curse left no effect on the character in his vision, serving only to anger the Decepticon even more than he already was. If only he could – _

_**XxX**_

"No more!"

The roar from the gun-former was explosively loud for he had not expected to be pulled out from the second vision this soon. His voice echoed in place, countless invisible ghosts of himself repeating the order in fading volume. The replays were still far from over, though; the memory drive still stung its needles into his CPU and Megatron was devastated to find how little control he had over the gadget now. He had not even realized when his dentas had clenched themselves together that his jaws grew numb, or of the weakening metals of his helmet under the assault of his own fingers. Starscream's time in the Autobot's captivity flew before his optics, each memory was just as eager to enter the warlord's mind as the next. One particular file managed to breach his defense, creating the blinding flash that Megatron had come to fear prior to its replay.

_**XxX**_

_It was fear, there was no doubt of it. Yet, there was no weakness that accompanies it; an unholy strength was coursing through Megatron's venuous tubings like some molten lava, slow yet unstoppable. A survival instinct the likes that Megatron felt only at the moment of survival-or-deactivation was fuelling him, strengthening him, urging him to take the life of the mech he was holding in his hand. The mech stood in his way to his airborne freedom and for that, he WOULD pay..._

_Megatron's consciousness burst through the madness clouding Starscream's meta-processors, shaking free of the murderous influence borne from his overwhelming claustrophobia, once again reminding him that he was not the one who acted in this horrific re-staging of the Seeker's life; as real as it seemed, Megatron was only a helpless, uninfluential watcher whose presence held no significance in this replay. Megatron had barely enough self-awareness to realize that the strangely-shaped mech whose throat-cabling he was currently choking was in fact the Autobot medic Ratchet although his features were barely recognizable, visually distorted into some ugly being by Starscream's fear-anger craziness which remained bubbling beneath the warlord's sanity. _

"_No, NO! I will escape from this pit-hole, I will be free, I will fly again!" _

_The gun-former heard the furious shout of his Seeker and found it strange indeed; Ratchet was definitely in no condition to threaten Starscream. The Autobot was struggling in vain to free himself from the jet's powerful grip, only to be responded with anger by Starscream. The digits around his neck-cabling began squeezing his vital lines in deathly strength; in fact, so strong Starscream was, it took less than a klik before the abusive pressure compelled his processors to initiate stasis lock. _

_With Ratchet now thrown out of the equation, Megatron got a limited opportunity to survey his surroundings through Starscream's optical view since his focus was no longer solely on the Autobot. His logic circuit insisted that he was alone, surrounded only by the Autobot brig's wall – but Starscream's crazed processors insisted otherwise; eerie faces pushed through the solid surface, laughing maniacally and whispering words that were insinuating enough to have caused anger in Starscream's circuitries. Then, a familiar voice calling softly from behind him invoked the same emotion in the warlord. Starscream's attention was immediately ensnared; with grace that Megatron would not have thought possible with his current instability, the Seeker turned – and the face of...someone... peered at him from beyond the energy rods of the prison's bar. _

"_You're not Skyfire. You can't fool me." _

_Starscream's stern reply – as well as the unknown mech's appearance – shocked Megatron, but only for a couple of astroseconds. Starscream's craziness eventually left him be, and through his unfiltered vision, the unknown mech's faceplates morphed into those of Skyfire, exactly as Megatron had guessed upon hearing his calling voice. The same could not be said of Starscream; his realization of the truth came slowly, and then only after patient convincing from the shuttle...which was disturbing the Decepticon leader. It was a slow going but that Skyfire managed to keep Starscream's attention to himself was saying indirectly of the closeness they shared. Megatron was only close to his Second when he wanted an object to unleash his anger, be it from defeat or someone else's failure. Megatron's thought turned inwardly as the astroseconds passed, only to be violently jerked to the current when he realized of Skyfire's gradual approach, forming a wall of whiteness before him that blocked almost all of his views. Starscream's objection at his approach dwindled with the decreasing distance, but this was not the thing that had enraged the warlord so. _

"_It's okay, Starscream. Come here." Skyfire's whispering voice reached Starscream's audios – and the bitterness that engulfed Megatron was like an unforgiving tornado levelling all in its path when Starscream himself cast aside his own will and dash into the waiting arms of the shuttle-former... _

_**XxX**_

He returned to his reality with a painful suddenness that made Megatron's processors spinning. A new wariness was creeping into his circuitries despite having newly banished the drunkenness brought about by the high-grades; exhaustion and frustration made for a potent mix that left him more irate than he thought was possible. Adding rust to the injury was the unending prickling in his cranial plating; in fact, so intense it was, the sensations overrode the pain signals coming from the pressurized nodes in his helm, where his digits had dented so severely by now.

"Enough," Megatron's mumbling voice was a far cry from the roar that he previously used. All the feedbacks were too much for his exhausted circuitries to process but the memory drive was merciless. "Enough of these slag..."

The rush of memories refused to abate at all, almost overwhelming him and leaving a dazed Megatron in its wake; what his optics saw was the replay of life scenes as viewed through Starscream's sensory perceptors – and it felt no more normal than his first time experiencing it. His optics were blurred by the constantly shifting images of Starscream's memories fighting for the warlord's attention, each lasting for a period so brief that drugged CPU could not grasp at it. Feelings which were not his leaked into his mental perception and there were myriads of them – sadness, pain, glee, excitement, nervousness, anger and score of nameless others. He saw most vividly the most recent of them; the consequent replays grew gradually blurry like viewing an old recording. Even the emotions attached to it were less potent than their predecessors but it was impossible to ignore the fleeting touches of pleasure and happiness, feelings that shouldn't be and yet were there. Of course, his confusion only created opportunities for the memory drive worked its devilry despite Megatron's persistence to have it all ended.

"I will not be defeated!" Megatron bellowed; though its wording was more suitably directed to a physical opponent, it was a battle nevertheless, a battle of will between himself and a non-sentient gadget. Perceiving the mech's subconsious wish to end his suffering, Megatron's CPU prompted the port occupied by the memory drive to open – but to eject it out proved to be more difficult than simply disconnecting it. Another sharp pain pricked his delicate cranial circuitries that made the warlord roared with frustration.

Powered by Starscream's base coding, the memory gadget was inevitably imbued with parts of the Seeker's personalities. It was a side effect that neither Soundwave nor Megatron had foreseen, not having even considering it at all, in fact, since said object was basically a non-sentient thing to start with. Even now, as the gun-former executed commands after commands to disconnect the memory drive, counter-codes were sent from the gadget itself, overriding the earlier orders and ensuring its place in the warlord's head. It was simply reflecting the most prominent characteristics of Starscream: self-preservation at all cost.

Megatron's pain left him no space to ponder the memory gadget's peculiar responses – only his steadfast belief that the object became too much trouble to be left inside his head any longer. Circuitries already overheating from his struggles, the discomfort was wiping rational thoughts from his CPU and pushing his desperation closer and closer to the imaginary cliff of offlining. Not that the memory drive had any consideration for this – in fact, the relative emptiness in his processors created one last chance for it to impart Starscream's most venomous memory into the leader's meta-processors.

_**XxX**_

_A condensation-drenched Skyfire lay gasping on the hard berth of Starscream's prison, squirming futilely as his torso was straddled by Starscream. Revulsion instantly swelled inside the warlord's systems for he knew exactly what had transpired – and what the Seeker had in mind next since they shared their meta-processors throughout the vision. The heat of lust circulating in Starscream's systems were unmistakable – and in Megatron's, the heat was transformed into a rage so powerful that both mechs would have been deactivated by now if not only for the fact that they were merely replayed memories. _

_Megatron was further sickened by the view of himself, being in Starscream's point of view, lowered down to treat the other's neck-cabling with gentle licks – hating the arousal that he felt from the jet-former all the while – and heard the soft mumbles of his Second. The first few words were unclear to his audios, distracted by his disgustedness to the unfolding events, but the remaining were just too painful to ignore:_

_You're an enemy, Skyfire, but _only_ to him. You're always my friend – more than that, even – to me."_

_**XxX**_

What happened next was a mystery to Megatron for in his hatred and wrath, his meta-processors snapped out of the vision through the sheer will of its owner. Slag the dizziness – to continue watching until the memory drive itself terminated it would be a torture unlike any other that the silver mech had ever seen, especially since what Starscream had in mind was an INTERFACE with the enemy...

"Lies! They're all LIES!" Megatron roared out with all the volume that his voice could manage – and beyond. His circuitries stung at the overwhelming strain he put to his vocalizer but the pain was a peripheral thing. He hated the knowledge imparted to him, wishing desperately that it could somehow be taken back, finally understanding why ignorance was a bliss in some cases. Sinking from the seat to kneel on the floor, Megatron's servos grasped at his helm all the tighter, finally breaking the metals; the resulting cracks wound their ways towards the memory drive-occupied port, causing the entrance to split open and widening the entrance. Still the gadget buzzed with promises of more visions to come.

Megatron's primeval roar echoed in his chamber when he smashed his forehead-plating on the floor before him, relishing in the physical pain that drowned the prickling from the memory drive. The 'release' did not last, however, and the gun-former was forced to repeatedly endure the agony over and over again – all for the sliver of peace that the memory drive refused to grant. Rationality totally cast to the side now, Megatron's fingers viciously tore at the opened port in his helm, seeking to get rid of the source of his torment. His neural networks fired up pain signals to his CPU as the too-small opening was invaded by cylindrical digits, disturbing healthy circuitries and abusing those already affected before. The port, split open as it was, was much too narrow for anything other than specialized plug to squeeze into, one that Megatron could not even remember having in the first place as the pain mounted to even greater agony. His sharp fingers jabbed at it, prying bits of metals loose with little concern for the side effects it caused. Energon blood seeped out from the cracks and abused wires inside and coated the warlord's digits, providing lubricant for the limbs' movements for further entry…until the tips touched on a solid object that was definitely not the natural part of him. This was it; this was the memory drive that had plunged his world into absolute smelting Pit since its installation.

The gadget throbbed as if defying Megatron's desire but the warlord merely grinned savagely at its last feeble attempt – and tore the thing out from his head.

The memory drive broke free on the first tug – almost stupidly simple for one so troublesome – but the accompanying pain was unlike anything that Megatron had yet felt. So entangled it was with Megatron's system, its loss came as both terrible shock and ugly pain, a combination that made it impossible to hold back his roar. Energon blood gushed out from the forcibly widened port as freely as the rush of river, the connective wires of the gadget trailing out with the force of the current like limp seaweed that could be seen growing around Nemesis itself. Crippled by the overwhelming sensations, Megatron's body doubled over on the floor, one servo bracing the concrete surface with strength enough to dismember an Autobot while the other fiercely clutched the drive as if in fear it might grew sentience on its own and hopped out of his hold. Megatron held in that position for nearly two full kliks before he had the sense to raise his sight upon the fruit of his efforts. In his palm, bathed in the pool of his own energon, the sizzling, sparking memory gadget lay, the last vestiges of its functionality eventually diminish with a single, final spark from its tiny circuitries. The pain was great, but the sight of his prize soothed all other discomfort for he was finally free of its malicious whispering. Too long had he taken counsel from this evil thing that even Soundwave's words, though he still considered, were secondary to his thoughts that this gadget had shaped. And now, he was free…and his elation was such a fierce and powerful thing that when his digits closed around it, he lent enough strength in the clenching of them that the memory drive crumbled under the force, snapped into myriad pieces that there would be no reconstructing of it again from the debris. Its complete destruction brought no remorse to the warlord for in his coming lifetime, Megatron had no wish to behold its likeness again.

Too occupied he was in his personal success that Megatron did not realize of the sounds of pede-steps approaching the his location and his own cries of agony masked his hearing and his vigilance for things outside his own concerns when normally, his sensitivity would have picked up the comings of his soldiers with ease. But now, as his senses returned and his attention dispersed from its convergence on the memory drive previously, Megatron become hideously aware of his own state, crouching like a whipped cur on the floor with his faceplates and helm stained purple with his blood, his hands being completely covered in his life-fluid. And most of all, he noticed that out there, in the hallways that passed the mess hall, a pair of pedes were making echoes in the passage, the sounds of them falling upon the floor growing louder as the owner approached the very place where Megatron was now. Unwilling to be seen in such pathetic state, the gun-former did his best to push himself back to his pedes, though not without much groaning and stumbling – for in the vanishing of the memory drive's influence, the high-grades' disorientation could again find foothold in his systems, loose though it was. Yet Megatron, hardy both in body and processors, was a master of his own will even until now, and with one servo still fiercely clutching the destroyed gadget, he drew himself to his full height, ignoring the streaming energon-blood, warm and sticky, at the side of his helm and readying his voice to bark his "frag-off" order at whoever that disturbed his personal dealings.

To Megatron's surprise, when the door opened and the newcomer stepped in, his optics beheld a curvy mech's figure, with wings as white as the lights of Nemesis and flamboyant colours that spoke well of his pride and confidence that personified his Second-In-Command. Angry commands died in his throat-piping before the warlord could utter them – but it was not because Starscream's appearance had quenched the fire within him; instead, burning all the more intense because of it. The Seeker, the cause of so many troubles that Megatron had to endure, stood gaping almost foolishly at the sight of his leader, looking little like the Decepticon Supreme Commander and more like a walking dead, with stains of energon-blood covering much of his helm and his servos. His red optics were pools of confusing emotions, all intense, all vying for dominion over Megatron's Spark.

"…My lord?"

Starscream's voice was squeaky with fear and the audio receptors of Megatron were perfectly adapted to listen to it. However, it was not in the fear itself that something finally snapped within him, like a string long pulled taut and awaiting only the right tool to severe it; it was Starscream's address of himself after all the torturous weeks without the Seeker under his command. To the silver mech, it was like his possession stolen and eventually returned to him after hard toils, and that his appreciation of it awoke a sort of greediness not to be quenched by words of comfort. It was in that moment that the feelings – initially awoken at his first meeting with Starscream and his Trine but buried by concerns of war and his own hard Spark – found their way to the surface, its path laid down by the raging jealousy induced by his visions from the memory drive. His fire burned mad with rage, thinking in his possessiveness that the loyalty, as well as the beauty, of this proud Seeker should be the possession of none but himself…and it was behind these thoughts that Megatron, still hazed by pain and over-energizing, growled deep in his throat that the words came out almost beastly, "You are mine, little Seeker!"

Megatron suffered no denial – and by the sudden deeper fear now shaping the contours of Starscream's faceplates, the jet-former, though recognizing this obvious fact, had only vague insights to what this pertained to his fate. Paralyzed by uncertainty and fear, Starscream could only stood dumbfounded at the doorway even as Megatron opened strides towards him; little did he assume that it involved the complete opposite of the usual beatings that Megatron dished out whenever the gun-former was displeased – and Megatron was certainly, positively unhappy with him…


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/n: **Changed the rating to M because I forgot to do so earlier. That said, this chapter has M-rated scene as well. Also, this fic is coming close to its end - maybe 2 more chapters to go._

**_XxXxXxXxXx_**

Starscream was not sure whether there were such things as limits to how many times one could land in slag-heaps for a lifetime; if the universe did have them, it seemed that Starscream was the exception, having escaped one disaster only to find himself on even worse ground. Perhaps staring right into the gullet of Unicron would be the only thing more disastrous than the sight his optics were treated with now – with energon blood staining a good portion of his helm and faceplates, it was no exaggeration when Starscream thought that Megatron looked like an Undead minus the shambling as the latter advanced towards him, one hand clenched in a fist that seemed all too eager to land itself on Starscream's faceplates.

The Seeker's first instinctive drive once the presented view was fully assessed was to flee the Pit out of there – but Megatron, though lacking the natural grace descended among the energon-blood of the flyers, made a desperate lunge for it, acknowledging that if he missed, Starscream would be well out of his reach for tonight; the warlord retained just enough ability to process simple thought patterns right now and he certainly was not up for a game of cat-and-mouse with a perfectly terrified Seeker. Starscream shrieked – funny thoughts raced in Megatron's processors of how the jet-former's voice sounded so very feminine that he might as well be a femme – and a blue fist was flailed upwards in frantic need to shield his neck-portion from what seemed to be strangulation from his leader. Megatron caught the servo easily and wrenched it into a painful twist, forcing Starscream to partially follow the movements or risked spraining the joints there. His shriek turned into a strangely high-pitched howl, a mixture of equally powerful shock and pain, as he was pulled completely inside by the Megatron-captured servo. Starscream tried to twist free of his leader's grasp but his other punch suffered the same fate – and before he could even throw out his legs to start kicking, Megatron had stepped behind him, both servos still firmly gripping those of Starscream's and slammed his shoulder-strut into the wall-mounted panel at the side of the door, hitting the 'close' button with force just short of damaging it completely.

"Megatron, you _fragger_!" Starscream's voice shouted in helplessness, with Megatron pulling both of his arms backwards and standing where his pedes could not effectively connect. His Spark seemed to shrink in its casing when his voice was reflected back to his audio receptors by the mess hall's smooth walls, hollow and ghostly in the emptiness of the place. Contacting his Trinemates was completely out of the question as well as hoping others might chance upon this ruckus and helped him out of this particular trouble – nobody had the same tenacity as himself to even begin questioning what did Megatron intended to do, let alone stepping in to save the Air Commander.

"Me, Starscream?" Megatron's voice, already naturally rough, came out as a rasp that was one step behind from sounding like a resurrected Cybertronian. Starscream gasped as the grips on his servos tightened, threatening to crush his smaller digits into uselessness. "A fragger, you say? Look who's talking…"

In all honesty, Megatron was hardly talking sense to Starscream's audio receptors. He was too blinded by fear to take in a word of his leader and the pain was driving out all other imperative other than survival. He struggled, profanities shouted from his throat-piping got steadily louder and more colourful but for all the good his vocal and physical defiance did, he might as well did nothing. Megatron's patience, never exactly in a high supply to begin with, soon ran out by his Second's rebelliousness.

"SILENCE!"

The mess hall echoed with the remnants of Megatron's roar and effectively shutting up what noises Starscream's mouth intended to produce out of the Seeker's terror. The scuffling stopped just as abruptly and the two was suddenly left in a menacing quietness, broken only by the anxious sounds of turbine-whirring while Starscream waited in dread for the announcement of his retribution. In all honesty, the Seeker was now paralyzed by too much fear to begin another episode of fighting, let alone shouting demands for release. His Spark could only pray for survival after going through the slag Megatron surely had concocted just for his punishment. The urge to sob was overwhelming but Starscream dug in his denta into his bottom lip-component in as best effort to stifle any sound hinting of weakness.

Megatron made no appreciable movement that Starscream could discern even from their close proximity. Pit, his back laid flush against the other's chest-piece at the moment but the only sign of life from the mech behind him was the steady, albeit slightly fast pulsations of the Spark deep within the silver frame. The stillness was in some way worse for the flyer compared to when he was slagged, the anticipation for pain that yet to come drove Starscream's Spark into erratic beating.

"Starscream…"

Starscream's frantic Spark literally stopped its beating for a moment. What had entered his audios just now was a complete contrast to Megatron's harsh shouting – the raspy voice had gained an unexpected tenderness in the calling of his designation.

"After all these while…you dare fraternize with the enemy? A traitor, no less…?"

Starscream tried to choke something out of his surprise-stricken vocalizer but all thoughts fled his processors when the warlord's servos moved about until Starscream's own was held in an one-handed grip – powerful enough by Megatron's standard who had spent his activation cycles swinging Energon Morningstar in the gladiator rings – while the other servo pressed itself flat against the broad expanse of Starscream's wings. The Seeker held back his ventilation, expecting more urgently of pain…but the digits were somehow tender against his metals.

"This has always been your fault, Starscream," Megatron whispered. His voice was low and rough, as deep as the Well of the Sparks and as gloomy as the barren Cybertronian desert. "You've always sought for things that you can't achieve. The Decepticon leadership, for one."

There was a pause, a pause in which Starscream intended to fill with snarky replies that he felt rising from the depth of his despair and frustration when Megatron spoke again, "…and you wished for Skyfire's company, for another. Keep in mind that I have offered him a place among the Decepticons but he turned from it. He is a traitor, deserving of destruction just like all Autobots."

"Like you deserve better!" Starscream shrieked. There was a painful twang in his Spark when he heard of Skyfire spoken so. It pained him all the more greatly because he acknowledged the cold truth in his leader's words. "At least he recognizes my potential!"

"Stupid fool. You seek recognition from an _Autobot_?"

Starscream let out a groan; there was a pressure on his spinal strut that bordered on pain yet it did not quite reach it yet, merely a warning. Megatron's palm eased itself an astrosecond later and his voice took its turn to speak, "What about mine? Do you think you will be commanding my air force if I had not seen the potential in you?"

"And you still acted as if I'm just a – a disposable soldier! I've pledged to be led by you NOT because I want to be your punching bag!" Something within the jet-former threatened to break at this latest outburst, something tenuous and fragile that was vital to his control, "I've tried my hardest! But it doesn't matter, does it? It only matters if you win – never mind if I've busted about every cog and gear trying to win battles for you! Never mind that I was the last to retreat just in case there are still chances to be victorious! It's only about winning in your rusted processors! It's – "

Starscream was suddenly whirled about and it cut off his increasingly manic rants. Pain and confusion rendered him clueless when his instinctive drive had warned him to run and the Seeker suddenly found his back pinned to the wall, his servos raised above his helm and grasped tight by one of Megatron's own. The shock of cold surface against his new, sensitive wings was not as uncomfortable as the fierce, intense glare from his leader's optics. Megatron was not that kind of mech whose expressions could be readily read – his scowl hid many of the more hidden depths of and the same scowl was now shaping the Decepticon lord's face; something secret and unbearable bubbled under the mask which seemed to stir Starscream into a new level of fear.

"Sometimes, I can't help thinking that you worth more trouble than what is necessary," an unused hand lifted to Starscream's neck-level to brush the main fuel line. Starscream choked back a sob, fearing the moment when the digits would close around the tube. "…but Unicorn slag me to Pit; I can't seem to get rid of you."

Megatron's weight was fully pressed upon Starscream's front as the warlord leaned forward. It was an act without thinking; it had been eons since the Decepticon Supreme Commander allowed himself such extreme proximity, consumed by lust for victory against Prime as he was…but those eons were suddenly a space of nothingness when he let his head to dip down and felt the warmth of Starscream against his lip-components. There was a jerk from the jet-former's body, too subtle to be denial, and then there was stillness between them. A quiet, strangely palpable pause that felt like the cosmic chronometer had halted its time measurement filled the space.

And the paused moment was resumed by the next astrosecond.

Something within Megatron rebelled at this show of weakness; an instinct that had preserved his activation through the hardships of gladiator fights and the consequent wars. It warned of foolishness when someone who earned a notorious reputation of being a backstabber was held so close to his person. His disgust bubbled to the surface at his faltering, during which the jet-former could have done _something_ – kick, shoot, punch, it did not matter which one starscream's deviousness came up with – and Megatron felt his primal urge to take the first offense spread in his limbs. Perhaps Starscream would see his new wings scarred; perhaps it would be his cockpit, bore open by the leader's crushing fist; yet, whatever damage Megatron felt like dishing, the motivation was muted by the astonishment upon seeing the expression on Starscream's faceplates.

He had pulled back with all the expectation of seeing an energy blade gripped in Starscream's servos somehow – never mind that the Seeker's limbs were still captive to his – but the faceplates that met him were not the smug one he had familiarized with the fierce, ruthless, traitorous Air Commander. The glow in Starscream's optics were faded but the rest of him was the picture of the adoring youth that had first walked in the Repair Chamber in those long-gone vorns, to be introduced by Soundwave as the first of Megatron's Seekers. It was a history of time long gone and here was a tiny piece rematerialized – an easily forgotten thing amidst the business of bloodletting and glory-seeking.

"Go burn in the Pit, Megatron."

Megatron was snapped back to reality by the statement and the youthful, bright Starscream was overwhelmed again by the picture of his older self. Now, a new rage swelled in the Seeker's systems, made intense by the virtue of realization that he was about to be degraded and there was little he could do to save himself. Starscream's voice cracked around the edges and Megatron pictured the Seeker's sanity breaking under the pressure he was enduring, to be rebuilt from the leftover pieces and glued together by whatever motivation that had carried himself through all these eons.

"Mind your glossa, _Seeker_," Megatron said dryly. This was a useless statement that Starscream would heartily agree to only as long as needed to escape the pain. Yet he could neither stop the reply nor his free hand from creeping up said Seeker's torso. He expected a flinching from the contact but Starscream was motionless, save perhaps by the shivers he felt running under his digits.

"It doesn't matter," Starscream muttered softly and dimmed his optics, much to the warlord's surprise. Surrendering his physiques to the abuse, the three words ran under his ventilation like a twisted prayer.

_This_ Starscream unsettled Megatron – one who seemed to lost all the hard will he had encased himself with and leaving only the empty shell. That determination which had so beautifully defined the Seeker was lost to that damnable Skyfire_, _Unicron cursed his Spark, and Megatron thought disdainfully how that Autobot could still manage a small amount of victory even in his defeat; he would not have that.

With only the rational thought that Starscream should be his and all else dulled by the haze of high grades, Megatron brought the servo which had been trailing on the Seeker's cockpit glass up to the chin-guard and held the faceplates up to him. It was another impulsive act that Megatron should not dream of doing should he was only a tad sober and less desperate, and he descended for the jet-former's lip-components. He was not rejected, which mildly surprised him, but the simple pleasure indulged him greatly that Megatron for once felt like leaving logic behind and continued with the insanity.

"Just get over with it," Starscream muttered, his tone without the bite of argument in it when he was free to speak. It was merely a plea to have the humiliation finished as quickly as possible.

Megatron did not feel like indulging the accusation with an answer. Instead he trailed a digit around Starscream's lower jaw, feeling strangely unaccustomed to the act when he would have taken whatever that fancied his desire without further ado; no kiss, no petting, and certainly without any word to pertain his motive. Yet he had wasted significant amount of time with this tricouloured jet but he wanted it – the fantasy that had so long ago occupied his mind when he had interviewed the three Seekers that were now his Command Trine was now being lived out and he enjoyed it.

Starscream too noticed the peculiarity. Far too many times he had joined his leader down at the brig. There was no shortage of violence no matter what methods Megatron used to wring the knowledge or cooperation out of his prisoners. The jet-former had been sure that Megatron would spare him no mercy this time, having stretched his patience to the limit, but this…_slowness_ was confusing him. And he was not at all hurt, not even with Megatron's frame close to him and his wrists held to immobility above his helm. The survival instinct in him screamed urges to get away but he was held there by fascination, having never managed a close proximity to the warlord without suffering damages to a degree. Starscream was ready to attribute it to a new form of abuse but his thoughts came to an abrupt halt; too lost in speculation, he had failed to realize Megatron's wandering digits until his throat-cablings were brushed. Reflexively, his frame tightened in expectation of strangulation, at the very least, but instead they continued to move in explorative intentions.

"What in the Pit are you doing…?!" Starscream gasped, fighting the involuntary moan that threatened to break loose. Whether he admitted it or not, the touches were sending specific messages to his neural networks and his body began to respond to them.

Megatron grunted in annoyance and said, "Stay still, you fool of a Seeker," and dived under Starscream's chin-guard; to experience more intimately what his digits had felt. He latched his denta around the fattest of the cable and the fang-like canines grazed the tender metals of it, causing Starscream to flinch – yet it was obvious that Megatron intended no deliberate pain in the gesture. He could have easily crushed the cables even with his dentas but instead, Starscream felt his neck-wires being kissed and sucked; a curious sensation, made all the more so when he was reminded that the one doing it would more often than not hurt him at the slightest fault.

"Lord Megatron…"

Starscream's call was ignored. Megatron was more interested to lavish physical attention than verbal one, his one free servo roaming around the jet-former's front while he continued his ministrations to the Seeker's neck area. His core temperature steadily rose, fuelled by the delightful strokes on his person. Despite his pessimism, Starscream did relax; he was already at Megatron's mercy and would be easily punished – yet he received none so far, and whatever Megatron was doing to him did not seem to intend humiliation for his part.

"If you think you can –"

" – hurt you? I certainly can," Megatron answered to the feeble threats, made only out of habitual rebellion rather than being serious about it. "For Pit's sake, I can crush you in a klik if I have a mind – which I don't."

Starscream stilled himself at the reply, less afraid than puzzled now. To be this close to the warlord, he was as sure as could be in being punished – but the caresses from the silver Transformer intended nothing of the sort unless pleasure counted as a new form of torture. It astonished even himself to admit it but Megatron was being…not exactly gentle admittedly, but his roughness had yet caused the Seeker pain. His leader seemed genuine in the attention, perhaps for his own benefit than Starscream's, but the Seeker could not deny that Megatron was doing something to him. Whether he would regret it in the morning, Starscream could not guess, but right now his systems recognized the heat that spread in his circuitries; long ago, Skyfire had stirred in him the same sensations – still was, or he would not have made his last desperate advance on the shuttle – but to feel it thus sparked by the Supreme Commander of the Decepticon was peculiar, to say the least.

But still enjoyable; though his internal drive warned of mischief and calamity, he could not fight his leader. It was terrifying in a wholly new light for he submitted _willingly_, Spark and body, when before Megatron he at least retained a small shred of anger, if nothing else. However, right now, as he shifted his helm to the side to better his leader's access to his throat-cables and ceased his struggles, he found himself perfectly compliant to the bites on his fuel lines that stopped shy of hurting; and he was responding too, his screechy voice came out restrained behind the gritting of his denta, becoming pants and gasps, and finally, when Megatron pressed his frame as hard as he dared without paining the Seeker, Starscream let out a rich moan.

"Enjoying yourself now, I see…"

Starscream cast a venomous glare at the warlord. To the latter's surprise, instead of screeching defiance, one of his long legs lifted up and hooked itself to Megatron's hip-plating. The shock on Megatron's faceplates was satisfying and the jet-former grinned that slag-eating grin he was famous for. He ground his chassis into Megatron's touches, receptive to the advance unlooked for – the passion of a flyer was voracious, easily kindled and difficult to quench before it could find release. That of which Skyfire had ignited was now resumed by Megatron and Starscream, eager to forget the bitter memories, caught his leader unexpectedly in a fierce kiss. For once, Megatron did not mind the initiative by his subordinate and enjoyed what was offered to him. His hold on Starscream's servo slackened just for an astrosecond as a new wave of lust swept over him; that small chance was quickly seized and the Seeker wriggled his wrists free but his servos came instead to Megatron's shoulder-struts to grasp at the metals needily rather than pushing the warlord away.

A string of oral lubricant spanned between their lip-components momentarily upon parting. Megatron wiped them away with the back of his servo, never breaking optical contacts with his Second. He wondered how quickly the moods of a Seeker could fluctuate because Starscream looked to be nearer to himself once again rather than the pathetic, broken Seeker that Megatron had rescued from the Autobots. He reached for the wings laid flat against the wall; felt their warmth and subtle quivers as their new sensitivity welcomed the stimuli from Megatron's servos. The white surface was smooth and untarnished; a small part of Megatron mourned that the wings would have to be rebranded, as with all of his Seekers…but that was for tomorrow. Tonight, he ran his servos over them and stroked the edges of the wings to hear the voice of pleasure from this beautiful Seeker. They were such delights to touch that the gun-former distinctly regretted sullying Starscream's old wings.

Starscream grew frustrated. His wings felt good, true enough, but he began to desire bolder touches. He hissed and bucked his hips, accidentally grinding against Megatron's and teased the leader with the hotness from the Seeker's body. His servo shot down before he could properly thought of it and rested just under the very end of Starscream's cockpit glass; near enough to feel the throbbing warmth from the jet-former's intimate regions. A familiar _click_ followed soon after and the warmth intensified under Megatron's digits. Starscream's grin widened, showing brilliant-white dentas, and the brightness of his optics were both challenge and invitation; Megatron was lured to look down but fight the urge, instead maintaining his gaze upon the redness of his Second's optics. He lost the battle when Starscream bumped his aft forward and his member slid against Megatron's hovering servo. He was not accustomed to treating his partner's penetrative component normally but the hotness was alluring – he took the grey length into his palm, half-stiff and already wet at the tip, and gave it an experimental grasp.

"I…didn't expect you to take interest in it, my lord," Starscream smirked even as Megatron stroked it a few more times and brought the Seeker gasping in his ventilation.

However, the pleasure on his chord was short-lived; Megatron took preference in his partner's valve rather than the chord. Starscream would have protested but a digit caressing the outermost rim of his valve was wiping off all arguments from his processors. It should have been degrading that Megatron found him already lubricated but Starscream had stalled his passion for far longer than he should. He was not in the mood to entertain either his own ego or Megatron's and reached for the gun barrel on the warlord's back for leverage and hauled himself more closely to him. His cockpit bumped against the silver chest-piece; the closeness was normally not tolerated but this time, only a strange quietness fell between them.

"Your move, Megatron," He rasped and Megatron's optics brightened in surprise; Starscream was essentially inviting him to progress in this madness.

However, Megatron did not seem displeased with the Seeker's boldness. His digit moved to explore the bared valve, goading wetness to coat the passage more thoroughly. The jet-former cooed and ground his hips into the wandering digits; they stretched his valve in the most delicious ways, promising pleasure as he had not known for many vorns. He tried to claim them deeper into himself and Megatron, who would not normally indulge the Seeker, acquiesced. Even Starscream was surprised to feel another digit slid into his canal, onlining the shallower sensors with light touches to the impossibly smooth wall inside. The two went only a notch deeper before Megatron lose control of himself and shove the third one into the writhing Seeker. Starscream's sensor networks flared with pain at the sudden intrusion but he willed ignorance – he was used to pain much worse than this temporary discomfort. Indeed, before long the pain was overwhelmed by the greater pleasures while all the different sensors inside him were activated, causing delightful tingles to spread from his outlet all the way to his Spark chamber. The digits pushed all the way in until Megatron reached the very end of the tunnel. Starscream bucked against the invasive fingers, making them brush the deepest nodes of sensors right in the centre of his connection port. Pleasure mounting, Starscream threw back his helm and moaned in wanton, gyrating the petite hips to further his pleasure. Lubricant dripped generously from his filled outlet, signifying readiness for proper interface.

"…Lord Megatron…" Starscream whimpered; he would have said more but words failed him, consumed by his raging lust for fulfilment. He wanted to forget and lost himself in the sin and his leader, at least for this time, was willing to grant him the request.

He was startled to find his world whirling around. He felt a denying screech growing in his throat, leaking through his denta as a warning hiss – though it would be futile if Megatron was planning some wickedness for the jet – but then, a low _thump _marked the end of the dizzying change. No longer pinned to the wall, he was now trapped underneath Megatron's heavier chassis. Cast in his leader's shadow, Starscream felt the helplessness of being the Commander's inferior, amplified a hundredfold at the sound of retracted panel somewhere below them. The Seeker waited, expecting the worst but the glow in Megatron's optics spoke no wrath or sadistic amusement. What he saw in them was a thinly-veiled uncertainty that Starscream could understand. Between them was a cold war which had stretched throughout many, many eons, and neither had been willing to admit utter defeat until now. But oh, he wanted the moments to be shared with this particular mech; needed the hardness, now jabbing against his crotch-plate, inside him. Starscream's digits dug into Megatron' backside plating, promising obedience in exchange for his affection.

A decisive growl resonated in Megatron's vocalizer when he shifted his weight to his lower chassis. Their hip-armours met, the stiff chord sliding in smoothly, its movements smoothened by the lubricant that layered the jet-former's inner-walling. Starscream lifted a servo to his mouth reflexively to fight the screech teetering on the tip of his glossa, denta viciously biting into the metals in his efforts. Megatron's size was larger than what he was used to, filling his passage until his neural networks exploded with pain from the initial stretching. The fingering before helped only so much to avoid real damage, but Pit-damned, this was still very much uncomfortable to the hapless Seeker.

Another low, frustrated grunt from his warlord, sounding suspiciously like a curse, and the chord went all the way to the very hilt. Expecting movements from the silver mech, Starscream braced himself for the incoming pain, digits balled in expectation of the plunder…but there was none that followed.

_Well, this is unexpected. Mercy from the infamous tyrant…_

Did Megatron ever give a slag whether his partner was enjoying the interface? Probably not before, but the pause was unlikely motivated by Megatron's sake. The gun-former's frame was a few degrees too warm from normal from his pent-up lust and trembling with the urge to continue. Starscream felt his dignity being scarred – if ever so slightly – that he was treated like a weakling but the gradual stretching his valve endured to this new girth was telling enough what kind of trouble he would be in should he started flinging curses at his leader. At least, the warlord had the grace to wait for him getting used to this, a reason enough to keep his silence.

Indeed, Megatron's treatment was out of the ordinary. Satisfaction on his part was an easy thing to achieve but…he wanted more. This Seeker underneath him was a wild thing he longed to tame. Fear, his usual tool to coax out subservience, only worked so far with his wily Second – he needed something far more portent and lasting to make him dance to his tune.

He felt the jet-former's servo grasped his back-plating expectantly and knew that the waiting had paid off. It's about time too since Megatron himself was unsure whether he can stretch out his patience for an astrosecond longer. It was an alien thought – he was usually the one craved for, but with the jet-former's legs spread underneath him, the valve rippling around his retreating cable, his processors could not think past the fact that he wanted Starscream so intensely, it was nearly unthinkable that an Autobot was _this _close to tainting him. The sudden anger was blinding – his consciousness was wrenched back to the present only after he had slammed his chord back into the valve; Starscream's strengthening grip on his shoulder-plating, as well as the thin, reedy wail from the vocalizer, were manifestation of his agony.

He was not afraid per se, not even when Starscream glared up at him, those red optics narrowing dangerously, recognizing it as the Seeker's defence mechanism to disguise fear as anger. A hint of amusement wanted to see just how far bravado would take the jet-former before deciding against it; Unicron take him, but he wanted to best what that Pit-damned Skyfire had tried to achieve, wanted to show that a far better reward lies with him and not the Autobots.

For this time around, pain and punishment would only serve against him.

So, he refocused his CPU on the rare privilege of interface. It had been so long since he had the luxury to truly indulge in it, far longer he thought he was capable. Even on Kaon, he rarely lowered himself to find the pleasure-bots prowling the dark streets, too engrossed in his ambition and struggles of activation as he was – and what little pleasure he ripped from those interrogations down in the brig was more like scavenging than fulfilling his true needs. This, thus, was a much-welcomed relief while he pushed into the Seeker, his servos holding Starscream the way he had dreamt of doing ever since he first laid his optics on the Seeker and thinking how far in the past it had been.

He heard the weak mumbling from underneath him and thought it had been out of pain; instead, when he instinctively slowed his pace, Starscream's arm-struts lifted up and wound themselves around his neck-cabling. His torso bowed under the unexpected pressure and was shocked, for the second time, of the hot lips-components crushing against his. Without thinking, aware of only the mouth moving to seduce him into giving in, Megatron reciprocated and pushed himself into the kiss.

"I don't break easily…Give me more," Starscream hissed once they had parted, his voice pitched with sheer desperation.

Megatron could not really say 'no' now, especially not when the Seeker wrapped his legs around his midriff and pulled him down. Though the position gave little leverage, the motion was enough to send Megatron's lust skyrocketing to new height and he descended with more force. It was a tight fit even after all the preparations – yet, even though the Seeker's optics flickered rhythmically with his thrusts, the mouth was moaning in pure, undiluted pleasure. Megatron drove into him – over and over, thick cable sliding with unbelievable ease into the tight, hot canal – thirsting to hear more of the beautiful voice to call out his designation and beg for his touches. The slim hips bucked viciously to compensate his already-deep thrusts, surrendering everything even as Megatron gave him all the bodily pleasure he could give.

Perhaps it had been the high grades, but Megatron soon discovered that his charges were building much too rapidly than what he used to. His overload was imminent and with it, the slightest bit of disappointment that this heavenly pleasure would end soon. Starscream wriggled underneath him desperately, with franticness that signalled his own approach to the conclusion which was of a little relief – at least, he could not be accused of being inferior in berth. Digits dug into his plating, encouraging as his voice was, Starscream gave up his normal dignity in begging for the completion; the pace picked up quickly as if Megatron had lost control over his own body. His chord slammed down a little harder each time, going a little deeper and claiming depth he was quite sure only a few mech had ever reached, if at all.

"…_M-megatron…!_"

It was a call unlike any other; before he could put thoughts into it though, Starscream clung to him all the tighter, his limbs tangling with the warlord's chassis like a starved morphobot that had finally found a victim to feast upon. The Seeker instinctively buried his faceplates into the chest-piece before him, muffling his screams into unintelligible noises even as his digits digging into what grooves he could find on the gun-former's frame so tightly that Megatron thought he had dented the armours in his grip. The combinations were already straining enough on his restraint but at the sensations of hot rippling around his cable and the sudden flooding in the Seeker's valve, Megatron was lost – overload came crashing down upon him, like surfs breaking over a rock in their paths. Waves after unrelenting waves of electrical discharges danced across his frame and jumped to Starscream's, connecting them both in the most intimate way the warlord had ever done. His thrusts stilled instinctively as the charges washed over his chord, massaging out from him a stream of transfluid to wash the valve's convulsing inner-walling. He groaned long and hard in the almost painful pleasure, his lust exploding before his offlined optics in fantastically multi-coloured sparks. He could feel Starscream's tight hold on his person, heard his nonsense screams, and thought he himself was faring little better – nothing mattered when his longing was finally perfected in such a way, with Starscream held close to him to ride this culmination to its end, together.

Morning had finally emerged over this side of hemisphere and the world woke up to it, welcoming the new day; behind the locked door of the mess hall and all over Nemesis, though, silence could finally reign over its battle-worn occupants deep, deep under the Atlantic water.


	22. Chapter 22

Throughout the whole night, the Autobot's med-bay became a place of tension and disquiet now that much of the euphoria of their recent victory had evaporated. The occasional moans of suppressed agony overrode what celebratory cheers had left since the Decepticons' hasty retreat; the many mechs waiting for their turn to be fixed served as grim reminders how close they had come to annihilation tonight. Yet, the sight of Ratchet relentlessly flitting between his charges – welding shut gashes, replacing broken armours and careful rewiring of severed cables – was a reassurance that tempered off the severest edge of the horror which still lingered in the atmosphere.

To the Autobot Chief Medic, his duty remained the same whether in victory or defeat as long as there were mechs that needed his medical skills. The immensity of the tasks before him was somewhat lessened with the aids of Hoist and Grapple, even the Witwickys who had rushed to the Ark as soon as the news of the attack reached them. Progress sped up to a satisfying pace with the extra servos – so much so, in fact, that by the time the sun had climbed to its zenith, even Prowl, who had sustained the second-worst damage from the battle, were discharged from the med-bay although with a prescription of a few orns' rest. With him, his aides excused themselves for their hard-earned rest, leaving the med-bay all to Ratchet.

Even then, the ambulance-former was not alone.

His optics fell upon the sole figure still confined to the berth, the victim of the worst damages in the battle. The last of his professionalism was shed at the Spark-wrenching view as something more than just a medic-patient concern washed into Ratchet's systems. He dragged a nearby chair and set it beside the flyer's berth, feeling slowly the edge of despair tainting what hopes he had managed to keep up for the shuttle-former's fate. The readouts were registering Spark-pulses at a frequency much too low for Ratchet's comfort as if his life was hanging on to the very ledge before the Well took him. Out of the need for some reassurance, Ratchet's servo crept for the shuttle's own which lay deathly still beside the chassis; their digit-tips touched and Ratchet was forced to suppress another wave of anguish. There was only enough warmth there to indicate the living Spark that resided within.

The swish of opening door alerted the medic of a visitor though the identity of the newcomer was guessable even without looking. Ratchet kept his silence until he felt a comforting servo on his shoulder-plating.

"Hey, Ratch," Wheeljack's voice spoke to him, thus confirming his presumption. Between the injured soldiers and his already-exhausted medical assistants, there were few mechs left who would still have enough energy to roam about the Ark and forestall rests.

Ratchet acknowledged his presence silently. Under the weight of professionalism he had worn the mask of medical concern for the flyer but before Wheeljack, his mental barrier crumbled. Lifting his optics to meet those of the Lancia-former's, Ratchet whispered, "I can't seem to reactivate his systems…"

Speaking those words seemed to enhance his sense of vulnerability. Joors of painstakingly cleaning the damage site, picking out debris and connecting severed wires before the armours were replaced felt like vain efforts when the mech in question was still firmly gripped in stasis lock.

"Give him some time," The Lancia former said with an optimism Ratchet found himself to be envying, especially when put under such duress. "It's been an ugly damage, what he got there. It's bound to leave him in stasis like this."

"Yes, but…"

Words suddenly died in his throat-piping at the notion which crossed his processors. What he was seeing now was not an unfamiliar event; though one he wished he never had to see each time it happened. The brutalities of war had taken many unfortunate lives but nothing humbled him more than when a mech succumbed to despair and simply 'let go'. When one decided to give up on activation and let his Spark to die off, even the most skilled of medics could not help bring back those that had crossed the abyss even though the physical chassis might suffer little more than scratched paintjobs. That Skyfire was technically fit enough to resume activation, yet showing no signs to do so, was worrying the Autobot Chief Medic. It pained him in the most intimate way that he could do little to change the scenario, as helpless as a turbofox before the gun of a hunter.

Wheeljack read his concerns readily. He might have been more inclined to invention rather than repair but he had seen his shares of the horror of the war. "Don't lose hope, Ratch. He might still make it…the ice hadn't been able to take him even after all those eons."

_True, but the ice had not taken Starscream away from him before_, Ratchet replied in the privacy of his cranial plating. It was a great torment for the medic that the one subject he would most like to indulge with someone was the exact one he could not tell. "We'll see…" Ratchet eventually muttered for the lack of better reply to give.

"You've help all the way a medic can for his patient. It's time to help yourself now." Two energon cubes, subspaced out of Wheeljack's own storage, clinked upon the table beside Ratchet. The faint whiff floated to the medic's nasal cavity and stimulated his empty fuel tanks, reminding him how low he was on sustenance.

He reached for one of the cubes only half subsconsciously and cracked the side, taking one long swig from the small opening. The flow of the glowing fluid down his intake lines were instantaneously relieving, the warmth seeping into every depraved networks and strained motors.

"You need to recharge," Wheeljack observed as the medic savoured the much-needed infusion of energy. "I'll keep an optic on Skyfire."

Ratchet put down the cube, now empty after taking three more draughts from it. The suggestion appealed mightily to him, who had had not the proper chance for a rest ever since he finished the repairs on Starscream; on the other servo, his instinctive drive spoke of reluctance to leave his charge when under such delicate situations. Hard-worn habits had used him to personal monitoring of his patients whenever possible, plus that his energy level was still sufficient to keep him on his pedes for a few more joors.

Wheeljack saw the complications brewing in his friends processors; Ratchets optics made a quick, reflexive jump from the Lancia-former to the prone chassis beside him, and back again. The decision was already made in the medic's CPU even before his coming; the confusion was only a fleeting thing and the resoluteness was soon back on the others faceplates. Sighing in defeat, Wheeljack said, "Alright. But me when you need a lie-down. I'll be in the bridge."

He gave Ratchet's shoulder-plating a brief squeeze as farewell, and left the med-bay. The silence he left behind was not without comfort. Wheeljack's encouraging words were very much welcomed when faced with such bleak possibilities, even more so when he laid his optics upon the unmoving figure upon the berth…

…wait.

It was almost imperceptible at first that Ratchet was inclined to attribute it to an illusion induced by his low-energy state, but his optics did see the shuttle's digits twitched ever so slightly every now and then. The remaining energon cube before him was now all but forgotten; Ratchet rushed towards the monitor and stared at the readouts disbelievingly for a few astroseconds. The increasing Spark-pulses, rising core temperature and CPU activities…all indicated that Skyfire's systems were breaking out of the stasis lock. The vents started with a hiss as they began to draw in air, further preparing the shuttle for the jumpstart.

All the while, Ratchet was forced to be a mere spectator throughout Skyfire's struggle for reactivation. The delicate process was made difficult by the previous injuries he had sustained as his original systems sought compatibility with the repaired parts. The shuttle-former's sensory systems might still be dormant, so it was more for his own comfort that Ratchet seized the flyer's servo and whispered, "Skyfire…Please, wake up."

Skyfire gave a powerful spasm as a wave of electricity washed through the huge chassis before the energy dissipated to the surroundings. His vicinity was suddenly awash in an intense blue flash as the dark optics came online, though the blue glow quickly dimmed to the normal brightness. Quite unexpectedly, the servo Ratchet was holding turned itself palm-up, the digits closing together to reciprocate the medic's hold.

"S…Starscream…?"

It was like a lightning struck right through Ratchet's Spark upon hearing the designation that first escaped the shuttle's lip-components. It petrified his frame even when his instinctive drive shouted for withdrawal; the spell was only broken when the white helm turned his way. Ratchet was suddenly aware of the blue optics focusing upon his person. Reflexively, he tried to pry the digits off his servo only to feel the shuttle reaffirmed his grip. Skyfire's full strength was yet to return after his ordeal, yet Ratchet could not find it in himself to break the contact – any gesture that his presence was desired weakened his resolve.

"Don't go…" His voice was as weak as his grip. It was not exactly unexpected, and nevertheless a relief for the CMO that he could speak at all; his last attempt at speech before the stasis lock had been horrible, the damages having included his vocal cord sliced nearly all the way through.

Instinctively, Ratchet gave a sideway glance at the screen which was still displaying various information on the shuttle's conditions. Everything seemed to be working fine, save only for the acceptable problem of being low on energy – again, expected from a mech recovering from missile-caused damages but still a matter to be attended to. His self-repair systems would need to continue what repairs that Ratchet could not manage – the most delicate wiring around his Spark chamber, for instance – but the process would be sluggish without sufficient energy. His servo responsively groped for the abandoned energon cube.

"Can you get up?" Ratchet showed the cube to the shuttle, the only sustenance he could offer for the time being. He did not think Skyfire could manage as much movement, thinking that tube-feeding through his secondary intake tube was in order but the shuttle began to groan. Several cable-creaking later and Ratchet realized that his patient was struggling to heave himself to sit on the berth.

"Skyfire –"

"I'll manage," He huffed though the assurance he tried to convey lost its potency while he struggled to pull himself by the side-railing of the berth which creaked and squeaked under the pressure. The simple movements were laborious enough to leave his vents sputtering with exhaustion.

Though a flyer was naturally lightweight, Ratchet was not sure his average strength could do anything should Skyfire collapse back onto the berth. Yet, for whatever good it would do, he still put down the cube and helped the larger mech up, his own joint-bearings protesting the strain as he pulled on the larger mech's servo. It took some huffing and puffing but a few astroseconds later, Skyfire was properly sitting up and looking down at the energon cube Ratchet was offering him.

"I can make it to the refuel hall," Skyfire said after a few nanokliks of pondering, gritted dentas forcing his normally smooth voice into hiss as he made to get off from the operation berth.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ratchet huffed impatiently, his usual medic-sense frowning upon the many risks in Skyfire's proposal. "You're going to collapse after two steps out of the med-bay with this level of energy, and I'm being very optimistic here."

He didn't like the notion of it but Ratchet was prepared to physically push down the shuttle back on the operation berth – it might be futile but at least he tried – but it was a resolve made moot once Skyfire let out a sudden groan. He quickly reached back, propping himself on the one arm-strut from collapsing. His free servo groped on the portion of his chassis where he had received the brunt of the missile strike.

Ratchet was upon the shuttle-former before he himself could properly process it. Leaning forward, the medic gently pried the tightly-clasped digits to see the armours beneath. There seemed to be no physical indication of returning damages – Ratchet had made sure to do the repair as carefully and thoroughly as his medical skills allowed – but the grimace etched on Skyfire's faceplates was worrying him.

"…I'm fine, Ratchet…" Skyfire gasped, again failing as miserably as he had been before when trying to convince the medic of his welfare. "It's just a little prickling, that's all."

Ratchet ignored his repeated assurance and activated his built-in scanner for a quick check-up. When he withdrew, the lines of frowns that were on his faceplates before were less visible than they had been before. "It seems that it's only your wires and cables reattaching themselves; your receptors as well. They're just coming online after the damages have been fixed but that doesn't mean you can go about like there's nothing happened. The missiles only narrowly missed your Spark – which I don't have to tell a scientist like you how bad that was."

The surge of worry, mixed with frustration at his patient's stubbornness, made for the bitterness and tension in the ambulance-former's tone. He was exhausted and worried ever since he joined the battles defending the Ark; they grew worse after all the painstaking repairs on the casualties, topped by despair as he watched Skyfire's repaired body remained in comatose even after the fixations. Even a patient mech would have fractured under the strains; Skyfire apparently recognized the hints and subdued himself from making it more difficult for the CMO.

Ratchet, meanwhile, was yet unaware of Skyfire's submissiveness. His processors were in flux from the myriad of emotions coursing through his systems. He reached – more like snatched, really – for the last energon cube and pushed it against the chest-piece insistently, an optic ridge rising as if daring the shuttle to defy him. "Your systems need energy to continue the repairs. Take this."

Skyfire hesitated for an extra nanoklik longer but the look in Ratchet's optics dissuaded him. He took the cube from Ratchet's hand despite his reluctance but after the first careful sip, his restraint came undone. His systems craved for it, unable to stop one gulp after another. Ratchet merely gave a shrewd smirk when the cube was handed back to him all empty.

"I'm sorry," Skyfire muttered shamefully for his accidental tactlessness. "…and thank you?"

Ratchet shrugged. "I would've had you refuel one way or another. I'm glad you don't make it difficult."

Skyfire stared at the Chief Medic with something akin to wary inquisitiveness, perhaps wondering the nature of the alternative ways of feeding that Ratchet had in CPU. His lip-components twitched at the edge of questioning but was quickly swallowed back, figuring out that he was better left not knowing about it. Most of Ratchet's worries faded at his charge's compliance; yet his CPU could not be thoroughly erased of concerns when his vision locked on the subtle signs of Skyfire's still weakened state. The blue optics were not as brilliant as he remembered them; the ventilations were shallow and frequent as if his circuitries did not receive enough cooling air to cope with the strains.

_Of course,_ Ratchet thought to himself. Skyfire's systems were running on low power, trying to conserve as much energy before more could be supplied. _ One cube is only enough for a minibot; a flyer's going to need more than that. Not to mention a mech THIS size…_

Whilst Skyfire relaxed himself to better process the newly-received energon, Ratchet did not bother to ask him the obvious before initiating contact with Wheeljack, whose answer came as soon as the link was established. More energon cube was in order if Skyfire was to recover completely in optimal time span.

::Wheeljack's here. What's up?::

::Mind sending three or four cubes to the med-bay? Skyfire has just been reactivated but he's too low on energy.::

::Sure, no problem. I've just passed the hall anyway. I'll be there in a klik.::

Ratchet conveyed his thanks to the Lancia-former and cut off the link only to find out that Skyfire had given up sitting; the shuttle was back to lying down on the operation berth. His appearance was only marginally better than the way he looked upon reactivation. As worrying as the scant improvement was, touching the digit-tips eased the medic somewhat. The heat he felt was what he ought to feel from a living mech unlike the borderline warmth of one whose Spark hung at the edge of the Well of Sparks which he had he sensed before the reactivation.

"You are going to need extensive rest for the next few orns to help your self-repair systems working. You can still manage non-taxing duties and tasks, though," He said, perhaps with a little more strictness than necessary.

"Alright…"

"Which means no outings for you, especially when it involves flying."

"Ratchet, I'm all audio receptors for you," Skyfire assured, his voice as calculated as if he was trying to convey a particularly severe damage report to glitch-prone Red Alert.

The careful tone as well as the look in his optics snapped Ratchet out of his lingering frustration; for the first time, he truly realized that the flyer was being obedient to his 'advices', having been unfortunately conditioned to fight his patients' usual obstinate insistence concerning their well-being. The Autobots were soldiers hardened through stellar cycles of war that they were inclined to overestimate their durability even when they had one arm-strut missing and a damage that showed right to the internal circuitries.

"Well, that's good," Ratchet amended his tone immediately, hiding apology in his gentled voice. "You'll need more energy before you can be discharged from the med-bay. Wheeljack's on his way here with more cubes."

Skyfire continued to stare at him with the same focus like the Twins who were promised a welding of their skidplates to their hoods should they disobey Ratchet. The optics gazing back at him was making a vornling out of the medic with the complete trust he saw in them; made him want to say more than what his professionalism expected and allowed. He struggled to swallow all that back into the deepest recess of his memory banks, just in time for Wheeljack to make his timely appearance at the med-bay's door – no doubt with a sub-space stocked with energon cubes – and saved Ratchet's dignity before he could make a larger fool out of himself than he already did.

_**XxXxXxXxXx**_

There was no sunlight that could reach the Nemesis so the inhabitants relied on their internal chronometers instead for time measurements. Came noontime, as the refreshed Decepticons were already up and very much active, Starscream was only beginning his; his systems whirred online after joors of much-needed recharge. For a few nanokliks, the Seeker felt a distinct reluctance to let the reactivation commenced. He missed recharging in a proper berth in Decepticon-safe territory for a few quartexes already, not to mention that the surface underneath him felt exceptionally comfortable. Yet, duty called – whatever duties that awaited him this orn – and Starscream was still obliged to attend them.

However, as Starscream's optics cleared itself from the darkness, the jet-former registered a strange feeling when he saw the purple ceiling above him. He could not quite put what it was about until he glanced around – and beheld a slightly different environment than he expected. For one, the berth he laid upon was red rather than purple, and larger than he remembered his own had been. A round window was installed next to the berth, with two others at different points in the area for underwater viewing. Additionally, while his rank granted him a privilege of spacious living quarters, the room he was in was twice as massive and more luxuriously furnished. A large shelf, filled with datapads, complemented the working desk and chair at a corner. This unknown environment he was in was partially explained when a figure moved out from behind the datapad-shelf and into the open. The overhead lighting cast gleams on the silver armours of the mech, who looked up from the datapad he was holding when Starscream screeched his designation.

"Megatron?!" Reflexively, the Seeker wanted to scoot back as their optics met, only to be hindered by his still-stiff joints which protested his intended movements. Now, this place made sense to the jet-former: everything about it spoke of the warlord's ownership. This was his private domain and Starscream was right in it. With the realization, his recharge-haze was wiped out completely and was replaced with a flood of memories from last night – parts of which explained the distant prickling deep in his valve. Immediately, warmth spread on his cheek-plating and rendered the metallic surfaces glowing with a faint purple tinge which Starscream desperately tried to hide.

"You took your time, Starscream," Megatron growled as he set the datapad back into the shelf without looking. However, his voice lacked anger, allowing Starscream a little space to relax himself and study the mech as he strode towards the study desk. Megatron appeared somehow different although the Seeker took a nanoklik to realize exactly why. It should have been obvious but his shock had dulled much of Starscream's sensitivity, right up to when Megatron reached for something bucket-shaped on the desk. The fact that it looked suspiciously similar to Megatron's usual helm drew his optics to the leader's head.

What were once smooth surfaces, Megatron adorned a set of four crests on the upper half of his cranial-plating, each one segmented and was almost a Cybertronian foot long. The lights revealed intricate designs carved on their surfaces which vaguely reminded the Seeker of Cybertronian glyphs, set in black background that emphasized the yellow patterning. Starscream gaped at the sight – the crests were a touch of elegance on the otherwise bulky and practical-centric chassis. From afar, it looked as if the gun-former was wearing some ancient crown albeit one with tips that subtly waved with the owner's movements. However, they quickly folded back upon themselves and retreated into their respective slots when Megatron picked up his helmet, setting it neatly upon his head. The helmet locked itself with a soft click and the secret crests were once again hidden from view, something which Starscream felt a distant regret for.

Megatron briefly considered the Fusion Cannon that was also on the desk before apparently deciding against it. Starscream kind of understood the reasoning – the formidable weapon was an overkill in a place where Megatron held absolute dominance; where Starscream's survival flight-or-flee drive was moot. Of course, that did not vanquish Starscream's urge to do just that when he saw the leader's approach. The force of will and the discomfort in his bearings made him stay put, to observe the gun-former more closely before doing anything stupider than those already rampant in his CPU. However, as frightening as the narrow distance between them was, Starscream could not help the urge in his visionary networks to let his optics roamed the entirety of the Decepticon Commander's being; the particular shine on his newly-donned helmet struck the jet-former. It was free of taints now but he had been positive of seeing energon-shedding injuries to his cranial plating last night, a sight worthy of nightmarish materials. His leader had not suffered cranial damages during the battles at the Ark. No, they were evidently self-inflicted; his digits had been covered in his own energon blood, the girth of which roughly the size of the damage-hole in Megatron's helm. What motivated the maiming of his own self was beyond Starscream's calculations, but he was even more clueless whether it would affect his fate now.

"What do you want from me?" Starscream hissed, turning his sense of desperation into a faked anger. That was one stupid thing that he could not really avoid doing, having been more or less ingrained into his protocols after doing it for vorns.

"You DO realize that you are currently in my chamber, lying in my berth, and that it will be wiser to show respect to me?" The lip-components formed a smug smirk when Starscream let out an accidental whimper, further betraying his already transparent anxiety.

Still, Starscream allowed himself to relax fractionally; Megatron's stance spoke not enough indications for violent tendencies. "…And why am I here?"

"Do you WANTto be left in the mess hall in this condition?"

A quick shifting of Megatron's optics brought Starscream's own optics to his crotch-plating –his dented, paint-peeled crotch-plating, splashed distinctly with purple lubricant and silvery transfluid. There were no worrying damages, but the marks would be embarrassing to be displayed in public. Even the most dim-witted mech could guess what had transpired without Starscream attempting to limp away from the place if he had been left there – the vigorous interfacing still left a dull ache in his valve which would have made movements difficult.

"I have my own chamber," Starscream retorted.

"I have better things to do than carry you all the way to your place," Megatron countered, his voice increasingly strife with irritation. Starscream realized that he was risking his leader's welcome with this exchange and promptly shut his vocalizer.

Something odd in that statement, that which Starscream had been struggling to identify, suddenly made itself clear in that brief silence. Megatron had just pretty flat-out stated that he personally brought the Seeker here rather than ordered someone else bring him back to his living quarters. It was very likely that Megatron could not rouse his exhausted soldiers to do the task but it still unreasonably made him happy, feeling as if his welfare was still a concern to the warlord after all.

"Get yourself cleaned up," Megatron said, averting his gaze from lingering on the Seeker. There seemed to be a peculiar avoidance in that gesture which encouraged Starscream's jubilance. The Seeker was careful to keep an appearance of indifference, as tempting as it was to address the fact though, to avoid needlessly angering his leader.

Starscream roused himself from the berth not with little difficulty, being very careful not to exert strains that would worsen his existing damages. It was not a very advisable thing to do but the soreness in his intimate joints proved too much of a trouble when he attempted walking; the override codes he executed into his systems immediately desensitized his neural networks to the pain signals. It was better than having to limp all the way out of here, anyway. He knew it might be probably bad for his existing ache but he still could not stop himself from making his way as fast as he could towards the exit when Megatron unexpectedly said, "The wash-room is the other way."

The silver mech spoke with casualness that belied the extraordinary generosity in that offer. As a supreme leader of the Decepticon, Megatron had access to such luxuries as private washing, done in the solitude of the wash-rack built inside his own living quarters. It was usually a privilege only shared by the highest-ranking individuals, Starscream included, but Megatron having offered his own for Starscream's use was…well, it felt like as if the end of the world was just around the corner. However, the tyrant pointedly ignored Starscream's attempt to gain a confirmation.

_Fine then_, Starscream thought. It would not be his fault anymore if he somehow misunderstood the reasoning behind the giving of the wash-rack's location and steered himself towards it. He still expected his advance to be stopped when he stood before the entrance to the wash-room, even glancing back at the warlord when he reached for the door-handle, but Megatron merely sat at the edge of his berth and toyed with the control panels built-in into his fore-arm strut. In all appearance, he either lost all interest in the Seeker or completely forgot he was there except for the focusing of his optics at the noise of door being pulled open. That Megatron made no move at all was enough conviction for the Seeker to proceed and shut the door behind him.

Starscream found himself standing in a wash-room easily twice the size of the public one. The open cabinet installed to one of the clean, purple-tiled walls were filled with cleaning tools and substances of varying qualities for every imaginable purpose. It seemed a little peculiar that the Decepticon Commander even had those – but then again, they partly explained why he could manage a polished, well-cared look when appearing in public. All in all, if it had been on Cybertron back before the Great War, this was the kind of wash-room a ruling Senator would have gotten for himself, lacking only personal insignia and lavish decorative carvings. Starscream carefully adjusted the temperature setting on the showering equipment, testing the first few drops with his servos before stepping under the streams of water, having confirmed that it was to his liking. He had made it as hot as he could stand it and the feel of it flowing on his armours and trickling through the seams was unbelievably satisfying. From no washing at all as the Autobot's prisoner, this drastic improvement was not one that Starscream would be inclined to complain.

By all means, he should have been a pile of metal heap waiting for Hook to reassemble him, yet here he was, in Megatron's private wash-room and with the liberty to use it. As exhausted and disoriented as he had been, Starscream's memory files stored perfectly the event of last night which desperately tried to ignore the Pit of – to no avail, of course. He could not pretend ignorance when his new wings remembered the unusually careful touches from the digits originally constructed to swing mining picks and later-adapted to crush Sparks; his receptors tingled at the recollections of caresses from the silver mech. Pit-damned, Starscream even felt energon-warmth spreading on his faceplates when he remembered how close they had been – close enough to warrant a good view on those fang-like denta before Starscream was forced to offline his optics. If this was some kind of a bribe for his obedience, Starscream was reluctant to admit that Megatron had actually came up with an unorthodox yet effective means to do so.

And yet…

Starscream did not hate it. Technically speaking, the Decepticon Commander had enough to his name and prowess to merit a liaison with a Seeker; flyers were incredibly fastidious when it came to their choices in company, even a temporary one. Yet, it had not been technicalities that had laid the ground for his approval in the interface – not even the residual charges from his failed attempts on Skyfire could exactly motivate his doing. The Seeker's wings made a sharp flick of annoyance as the conclusion formed in his processors, flinging water to the sides in sparkling droplets.

_This is stupid, _Starscream fumed. Having no outlet for his newest emotion, he reached instead for the nearest shampoo bottle and a fresh rag on the shelf. Well, that Rust-bucket DID offer the wash-room; its accessories should come with the package, naturally.

Without much thought in reservations, Starscream poured the content onto one of the fresh cloth. It was enough for ten mechs to wash – and the jet-former used it all on himself, smirking triumphantly as he lathered it all over his chassis.

_**xxxxx**_

Starscream appeared from the wash-room a breem later, all shining armours and fragrant scents that made Megatron's optical ridge quirked at the corner when the warlord looked up. No longer fiddling with his own arm-mounted control panels, Megatron was now busy with his Fusion Cannon, his digits checking and re-checking every little detail on the weapon. However, the silver mech's sight was snapped upwards to peer at his Second's coming, blazing with fiery light when Starscream stepped within an arm-strut length – a distance that even Soundwave would step beyond when given a specific permission to do so. It should have enraged the warlord; instead, there was only silence from him, enough motivation for Starscream to prompt, "What do you want me to do now, LordMegatron?"

"Now, you should get lost," Megatron rumbled distractedly, as if considering the jet-former as merely a nuisance. "You're well and clean enough to make public appearance."

"I'll be happy to," Starscream snorted. He would love to take his leave, away from a place where he had no right to be. Yet, he was welded to the spot firmly. Questions that buzzed in his circuitries kept his curiousity elevated; thirsting for answers. "Lord Megatron –"

"Your wings, Starscream. Get them branded with Decepticon symbols before someone shoot you out of the sky."

"As you wish." The lack of attention from the silver mech was frustrating, made even more so when he realized that Megatron was feigning disinterest to encourage his departure. "You're just going to ignore this, aren't you? Just like you did with everything else over the vorns."

That proved sufficient to catch the gun-former's attention. His reactions, however, were unpredictably drastic that Starscream found himself shrieking a bit when Megatron came to his pedes; his full height overwhelmed the Seeker in his shadows. The red optics bore into his own with unconcealed frustration – and suddenly, Starscream was again reminded of the danger possessed by the processors behind those deadly red lenses: the power to peel open the layers within Starscream's CPU and expose his thought-processes to be analysed and decoded as easily as one might read a datapad. Oh, he remembered well the first helpless experience when his thought processes were stripped naked to his leader's scrutiny; felt the potency of it like it was yesterday as a sense of horrible helplessness coursed through his circuitries.

"What are you trying to imply, Seeker?" The low, rolling tone signified just how close Starscream was to having his leader demonstrated the use of his fists…which was an improvement, in some odd, twisted way, especially when Megatron decided to toss away his Fusion Cannon rather than attach it back on his arm-strut. Starscream fought his instinctive drive to kneel before his leader; instead, he steeled himself to meet the angry gaze squarely, stilling his glossa to let the silence spoke what words could hardly tell.

The quietness itself was frightening, unfortunately.

Megatron was fighting between primal urges and logical reasoning. To wreck his Second scarcely after his rescue would be waste of energy and materials but Starscream's behaviours were taking their tolls on his patience. Finally, _finally_, the uncomfortable stillness was broken when Megatron ground out, restraints making his voice exceptionally hoarse, "Do NOT test me, Starscream."

Megatron was not striking, surprisingly, when his body languages indicated that he would. Megatron rarely exercised his restraints – that he did now was perhaps trivial to other mechs but to Starscream, used to his leader's ways and manners, he knew that this was a significant insight even if largely unconfirmed. Between his curiousity and the jet-former's careful wordlessness, Megatron had indeed decided to see the proceeding rather than halting it altogether.

They continued to stare into each other's optics.

Counting silently the passing astroseconds.

Waiting for the other to act.

Starscream despised the indecisiveness and thus, was the one taking the risky plunge. Megatron had been most certainly overenergized then – the scents of high-grades from his ventilation had been strong enough to register to Starscream's olfactory sensors – but he had also spoken with underlying truth. Right now, the Seeker depended on the possibilities that Megatron recalled his words last night to shield him from the worst of his anger; he kept staring whilst lifting a servo between them, his digits splayed open to demonstrate the lack of weapon. Megatron's optics make a quick flitting to the limb, the irises contracting in alert concentration. The servo hovered between them for a few nanokliks of uncertainty before Starscream decided to just go with it and touched his digits to the edge of Megatron's jaw. The silver chassis jerked; cooling fans kick-started in frenzy, preparing the mech for fight-or-flight decisions. In that few astroseconds of doubts, Starscream could be easily wrestled to the ground as he was to be shoved away. Then, the red-flaring optics dimmed back to normalcy and the tyrant, despite the tension in his joints and on his countenance, endured the given contact.

It was brief but that few nanokliks saw Megatron, tyrannical leader of the Decepticons, yielding to his Second's stroking digits. For Starscream, it was enough.

The jet-former withdrew his servo, feeling as if he had just survived sticking his head into the jaws of an oxide shark. He did not hide his relief just as Megatron was visibly stunned at his own tolerance. At the same time, Starscream could not deny the rush of exhilaration in his neural networks, a pleasantly warm sensation that could have grown into something more if not restrained.

"I'll get the branding done soon." Pit, this was even more uncomfortable than before but in a wholly new way. Megatron replied with a grunt of acknowledgement, more sounds than he expected coming from the mech, considering the surprise he was being caught in.

Starscream left without another word, not trusting his own vocalizer to manage coherent sentence anymore. Megatron was similarly quiet; their ventilations filled the living quarters instead of exchanged words, making for an awkwardly choking environment that Starscream was relieved of only when he stepped beyond the threshold of the chamber and into the hallways. The door slid close behind him with a gentle hiss; the tremulous sound of the lock being engaged unleashed his held-back exhalation. He stared down at his own opened servos, flexing the digits whilst his thoughts turned inwards…and he could not help himself from smiling.

Both of them were completely sober today. Yet, he had touched Megatron – _Megatron, for Pit's sake_ – and suffered no bodily harm for the almost-suicidal daringness.

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_Does that make it – _

…_Does it really?_

There was no denying of the…'happening' between them. Starscream was less ambiguous of his own thoughts than he was with what were in Megatron's CPU. There were theories forming in his cranial plating but Starscream was reluctant to believe it as of yet – the histories between them were considerably long and riddled with hostility and occasional grudging acceptance. To think that this might have been of completely opposite nature was…shocking. Still, there was other matter that was less undecided and just as worthy of celebration.

Starscream was _free _once more.

It had been interesting to note the hints of confusion on the Decepticon Commander's visage. No longer did Megatron answer to his passing thoughts as if they had been spoken out loud. However slight it was, it indicated anonymity of Starscream's thought processes to his leader as if…as if Megatron had lost – or given up – his telepathic ability. To own the sanctuary of his processors solely and absolutely without a silent intruder to disturb the internal peace he so treasured was a euphoric thought, as sweet and powerful as the realization that his touch had not been spurned. It was enough to have to be careful around Soundwave; one more mech capable of CPU-filtering would likely doom him to complete CPU meltdown in a few cycles.

In the distance, the familiar background noises of mechs going about their businesses reached the jet-former's audios, fishing the Seeker out of his own little world and brought to him a sense of longing for the company of the other Decepticons. He had never been quite close with the other soldiers as he was with his Trinemates but they were still Decepticons, sharing common enemies in the Autobots. Starscream took a glance on his either side – at the white, unmarked wings that stood high on his back, reflecting his positive mood. They were beautiful constructions that perfected his elegance – and soon, would be made completed when his faction insignias are branded upon the white surfaces.

Turning on his heel-struts, Starscream directed himself to the med-bay on the lower level. Hook was likely active in there by now, perhaps having worked since morning on other wounded Decepticons – Scrapper as well, if the casualties proved to be exceptional. As he walked through the long, mech-empty corridor, Starscream was suddenly conscious of the subtle prickling of recognizable signatures in his Trine link. Gladly, he opened his line to the twin signals and received a similarly warm welcome from the presences behind them. He could not pinpoint their exact locations though, which caught him by surprise when he saw the two of them appearing from another junction at the end of the corridor.

It was Skywarp who was in the lead. Thundercracker trailed behind him in brisk steps, growing to a jog as his trinemate outrightly ran for Starscream as soon as he spotted their leader, yelling "Screamer!" every once in a while.

"Wait, WAIT!" Skywarp did not seem to have any intention of braking whatsoever, causing instinctive shouts to burst forth from Starscream's vocalizer. "Don't hit me, I'm – "

The resulting crash between the Seekers was not with as much force as expected. Unfortunately, Starscream was still struggling with the aches in his joints and bearings, thus him losing his balance completely as the other Seeker lunged for him. The shock of being barrelled into caused his fail to control; it was inevitable that Starscream groaned out a string of profanities as the soreness spread in his neural networks, directed as much to Skywarp as to Unicron.

"Skywarp, will you – Frag it – Pit, that hurt, you scrap-head!"

Skywarp rolled off his leader with no appearance of remorse whatsoever. Thundercracker was quick to offer Starscream a helping servo, pulling the aching jet-former to his pedes while Skywarp continued to grin nonchalantly.

"It's good to see you're okay!"

Starscream shot the younger Seeker a disbelieving glare at that. "So _you _say! It's lucky you don't break a cog or two in me!"

"We were just worried," Thundercracker supplied in an effort to soothe his obviously bemused trineleader. Skywarp had never been a fine choice if one was looking for a company that did NOT involve destroying things and pranking other bots in sight. "We just realized that our trine-links registered a few stray signals from you last night. We were recharging so we didn't realize it when it happened…but yeah. It got us wondering."

"I didn't –"

Starscream promptly cut off his sentence, realizing exactly what Thundercracker was talking about. As their trine-links enabled the members to register the statistics of each other, intense emotions could involuntarily trigger signals that the others could detect. If an escapade with the Decepticon Commander did not cause it, nothing else would. Under Thundercracker's careful scrutiny of his faceplates, Starscream assumed that some of the more curious feelings had escaped into the link unattended.

He supposed hiding it from his Trine would not be wise but Starscream was not sure the exact nature of his…relationship to begin telling the two Seekers. "Never mind that. I'm alright now."

"Maybe your systems are glitching? Who knows what the scum Autobots had done…"

"I'm fine, Skywarp. Well, aside from having you knock into me, that is." He earned a sceptical rising of an optic ridge from Thundercracker at this. Starscream sent a reassuring message over their trine-link to stop the growing worry he saw in the blue-and-white Seeker.

"Fine, I suppose. But we should refuel – you're registering a low reading on energon level," Thundercracker pointed out just as a warning message about the exact matter scrolled before Starscream's optics.

Starscream spent a few astroseconds in pondering – refuelling would not take too much time anyway and Hook might be having his break as well – before he opened his mouth to agree. However, his agreement, evident in his processors and clear to his Trinemember's reception, prompted Skywarp to cut him off:

"Great! I'll go and save us seats!"

With that, the Seeker activated his warp-gate projector and opened himself a portal. The black-and-purple chassis was gone in a flash before any of his Trinemates could say a thing or two about it.

"…Well, at least we're guaranteed a place," Starscream lifted his shoulder-plates in a relenting shrug. That sudden departure was just so Skywarp-ish anyway that he should have seen it coming from megamiles away.

Similarly, Thundercracker found it useless to comment on the jet-former's impulsiveness or try to change his ways. He started down the corridor to the mess hall with Starscream in tow, the latter being willing to submit the lead to the underling Seeker for once when his empty fuel tank began to distract his sense of direction. After all, it was good to just lay back and absorb the familiar environments inside the Nemesis after what felt like forever being surrounded by the sickeningly cheerful orange of the Ark's interiors.


End file.
